


The Hunt

by bigfatass3000



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: ARGUS, Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Sex, Angst, Burning Legion - Freeform, Corruption, Deception, Demons, Dreadlords - Freeform, Dubcon (Archi/KJ), Family, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Feels, Fel, Gen, Id Fic, Imprisonment, Intersex Character, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Mention of abuse, Mindfuck, Multi, Other, Pit Lords, Sexual Content, Shapeshifting, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:17:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 60,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9817793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigfatass3000/pseuds/bigfatass3000
Summary: A convoluted story of deception, affection and guile.First chapter summarizes a fair bit without spoiling that much ;) Be warned though, there are some creepy undertones.





	1. Chapter 1

The timelines were _fucked_ , as far as Nozdormu could tell upon noticing the latest three universes to be toyed with by the Legion. They were three different versions of Azeroth, centering around the time of the War of the Ancients. In one, it was the canon timeline Nozdormu did his best to preserve and protect. Sargeras had been denied entry to the mortal plane and the Sundering was about to occur. In another, Illidan Stormrage had been plucked from existence at the age of five, leaving Malfurion and Tyrande to grieve all their lives for him. The Legion had captured him right under the noses of the entire night elf empire. In the next timeline, the war was underway and Archimonde was directing his forces to slaughter anyone in sight. Illidan, Malfurion, Kur’talos Ravencrest and a whole lot of other elves were making a stand against him and the armies of the Burning Legion. But Nozdormu took interest in this timeline the most, for he sensed a game at play, a particular fixation and method to the way the Legion moved. They were making a grab for Illidan once more, and the young night elf had absolutely no clue. A dreadguard was a dreadguard, a felhound a felhound. Enemies coming towards him that he gleefully blasted with arcane energy, as was his duty.

At the front lines beside him, an elf by the name of Latosius mistook the Legion’s focussed assault for an attempt to slay their commander, Kur’talos.

“Kur’talos! They come for you!”

“They do.” Lord Ravencrest didn’t seem to care. His eyes were fixed upon Archimonde, who loomed thousands of feet above the swarming demons. The massive Eredar threw a hand out to one side and the clouds burst with doomguards swooping from high in the sky, diving towards the elven lines.

“SHIELD WALL!” Kur’talos roared, a second before realizing they had no shields, only warriors with greatswords and a few flimsy casters. “Ah, fuck.”

The meatiest lads obeyed, though, and raised their swords to the sky, hoping to gut some of the demons flapping around. The doomguards made no attempt to dodge, instead converging upon the head of Illidan and grabbing him by the skull. Illidan shrieked, mid-cast and flailing while Malfurion screamed and Tyrande jumped to grab hold of his leg. She missed, falling back amongst the chaos and watched her friend disappear.

“BROTHER! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Malfurion howled, falling to his knees with such drama that he could have scored a casting in a soap opera. The battle raged on.

Illidan was taken up into the sky, silenced every four seconds so he could not cast a single spell. Young and brash, he presumed to fight with his fists then but a sharp blow to his neck told him otherwise. Unconscious from a combination of altitude and demon neck-smacking skills, his world darkened.

It remained dark upon his return to the land of the living, but what _sort_ of living was yet to be seen. Cold grey stones patterned the floor beneath him, and they weren’t even set properly. Jagged bits poked up here and there, a strange green cement that wasn’t quite dry seeping through the cracks. Illidan shifted, and froze. He was naked. Why was he naked? This wasn’t _that_ sort of story!

Or was it?

A scraping sound directly behind him caught his attention. He ducked, elbow to the ground and propelling a body roll away. He hit a wall moments later and grunted as his shoulder blades ached. Illidan had been thrown into a cell and only now was the pain of impact returning. Dark purple bruises colored his lilac flesh near his knees, shoulders and hips.

 

Nozdormu frowned as he compared the captured Illidan of this timeline to the one he’d inspected moments prior. They were in the exact same situation, only one was a mere child and very, _very_ afraid.

_‘Oh, no…’_

 

Whatever Sargeras had in mind was yet to be seen, and all focus shifted to the second timeline, where the majority of this story will take place. Little Illidan Stormrage curled up in a ball, his black hair matted all over his face. It was freezing in here, and something scraped the floor coming closer and closer. Illidan squeaked, backing up as best he could when two bright green eyes appeared in the darkness. Low, gritty snarling filled the air along with the acrid stench of fel. Illidan whimpered, covering his face with his hands.

A sudden crack resounded and light flooded the cell. The felhound about to nip Illidan’s ankles off scampered away but was caught by the lash of a long, fiery whip. It crumbled to dust in seconds, leaving nothing more than a steaming pile of ash. Illidan stared, shocked into silence.

“Did it hurt you?” asked the figure illuminated in gold, one Kil’jaeden the Deceiver with eyes so bright Illidan could not meet them. He spoke in Darnassian, the language all night elves had been using in Azeroth. “Do not be afraid.”

Illidan squinted, tremblng. He said nothing, keeping to his corner and trying to make sense of all this.

 _‘Where am I? Why is it… so cold? What was that thing, where’s Malfurion, who’s this?!’_ He pulled his knees up closer to his chest and buried his face between them. Kil’jaeden stepped closer and bent down, summoning a ball of yellow light to brighten up the cell. He calmed his own aura of power and splendour, kneeling a short distance from Illidan. A master shapeshifter, he’d worn the form of a golden-eyed night elf with long black hair and violet skin.

“Illidan,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not…” Illidan whined, lifting his head and glaring at Kil’jaeden. “What am I doing here? I want to go home.”

“Shh.” Kil’jaeden sat down, crossed his legs and observed his prisoner. “You won’t want to hear what’s happened to your home.”

“Eeh? What?” Heart racing, Illidan tensed. “What’s happened? Where’s my brother? I-”

“Shhhh…” Kil’jaeden reached out and crooked one finger inwards, drawing a tendril of energy from Illidan’s body. Magical in nature, he could see it as a manifestation of the overwhelming fear Illidan felt. Kil’jaeden took it for himself, fed upon it, and freed Illidan from his near crippling terror. Like a warm wave washing over his head, caressing his muscles and dissipating by his toes, Illidan was calmed. His confusion lessened as his thoughts would no longer connect, Kil’jaeden easily manipulating his mind towards a more favourable mood. There was to be no anxiety or concern here. Only peace, emptiness, and a blank slate for the demon lord to work his magic upon. Illidan adopted a vacant gaze, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. He lifted his head, looking curiously at Kil’jaeden.

“…Who are you?”

This question Kil’jaeden allowed and responded to, his voice low and gentle.

“I am Kil’jaeden, and I’m here to protect you.”

“From what?” Illidan shifted, then winced. “Ow…”

Immediate concern filled the demon’s visage. “Are you alright?”

“Nh…” The unforgiving stone Illidan sat upon was beginning to hurt his butt, and he made an attempt to stand. Kil’jaeden expected him to be weak; everyone who came to Argus was in the beginning, and opened his arms. Illidan’s knees buckled and he fell into the demon’s lap. Kil’jaeden’s dark robes were much softer than they looked, and cushioned Illidan nicely. He still squirmed around and managed to grab onto Kil’jaeden’s chest. He squeezed. _‘This… this is a man, right?’_

Kil’jaeden read that thought immediately and was seized by fierce embarrassment, his cheeks darkening. He pushed his emotions away as he was used to, focussing on the task at hand.

“Illidan.”

The elf looked into his face, searching.

“You must listen to me.” Kil’jaeden let Illidan watch the motion of his hand as it drifted towards his face, then to the left, until he could stroke Illidan’s hair with the pads of his fingers. “Kalimdor has been attacked.”

Illidan went to interrupt him, to ask something, but Kil’jaeden’s grip on his mind tightened, keeping him quiet.

“A race of beings known as Naaru are warring with the remaining kal’dorei there. I did my best to save you. They would have hurt you, terribly.”

 _‘Malfurion! What about Malfurion and Tyrande?’_ Illidan’s mind, suppressed though it was, screamed and screamed. Kil’jaeden continued to caress his hair, siphoning the anxiety away and filling Illidan’s head with deceptive knowledge.

“I do not know what happened to them, but I believe they are well.” He brought Illidan’s face to his warm, broad chest. Illidan listenined as each thought and impulse was filtered according to Kil’jaeden’s desires. “We are on Argus, a planet beyond the stars. Elune has blessed us with the gift of life and safety here.”

Illidan, resting against what he understood to be an adult male night elf who had just saved his life, believed him. He was not exactly allowed to doubt.

“This is my home, and I will protect you from anyone who tries to hurt you. I have many friends here, all sorts of people. You will be okay.”

“Mnnh…” Illidan scrunched up his face, feeling an odd pressure behind his eyes. The presence of physical pain alerted Kil’jaeden to calm down a bit, and he eased up on invading Illidan’s mind. Now the time came for a more personal approach. Whilst keeping watch on the child’s thoughts, he cradled Illidan close to his body and was still. A few minutes passed, then several more. Illidan grew comfortable nestled in Kil’jaeden’s robes, processing what he’d just been told and having any worries dampened. The demon lord took this moment to stand, ensuring his prisoner was well supported as he exited the cell. His summoned light followed along, through long and forbidding corridors, up winding black stairs. This was Kil’jaeden’s personal dungeon, where a silencing spell had been cast to temporarily drown out the screaming of all those tortured down here. Felhounds scampered about, feasting on what meat or magic they could find. Kil’jaeden had let one into Illidan’s cell solely for the purpose of playing the hero and vanquishing the foul beast. There was nothing like a bit of temporary, inescapable horror and immediate relief to condition a vulnerable mind. Illidan’s vision blurred, shrouded with dark magic courtesy of his captor. There were certain things no elf of five years should see nearby.

Out of the dungeons they went, reaching the top of the polished obsidian stairs. Kil’jaeden lived in the palace of Sargeras, Archimonde also making his home here within the crystalline walls. They all had their own private quarters and sections where nobody but those they allowed could access. Kil’jaeden was partial to a bit of peace and quiet, finding his thoughts flowing more freely when he couldn’t hear his fellow demons fighting, breathing or otherwise existing. He brought Illidan up to the third floor of the palace, where dark green felcloth carpeted black marble floors and the walls were decorated with various skeletons. Illidan saw none of this, his face pressed firmly against Kil’jaeden’s thick pectorals. They really did feel kinda like boobs to him. Out of instinct, he nibbled on Kil’jaeden’s robes. The rocking motion of being carried soothed him enough for sleep to creep into his mind. Kil’jaeden allowed this, entering his own bedroom (rarely used, and thus perfectly clean) to set Illidan down. Illidan clung to him, squinting with his deep golden eyes.

“K…” He tried to remember the demon’s name. “K’jay…”

Kil’jaeden felt something, not quite identifying it but remaining endeared nonetheless. He concentrated, furrowing his silvery brows.

“What is it?”

“Nn..” Despite Illidan’s headache, Kil’jaeden checked on his mind to see where his thoughts were going. They were subconscious, primal, wishing for warmth and comfort and more importantly, Kil’jaeden. He was beginning to identify safety with his supposedly night elven guardian, in the early stages brought on by Kil’jaeden’s manipulative efforts _. Children really are easy to influence,_ he thought. _But so delicate._

Sargeras had requested a report from his right hand on the progress of Illidan’s capture, but Kil’jaeden knew there would be time tomorrow for such things. They were immortal beings, Illidan included, and a little indulgence for a future of security would do this budding relationship some good. So Kil’jaeden kept Illidan company that night, allowing the small elf to sleep on his chest while he thought about his future plans.

Sargeras was not pleased.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Illidan woke at six in the morning and found himself atop a snoozing elf. Vague memories filtered in from yesterday, and he remembered who this was. His savior, apparently.

“K’jay…?”

Kil’jaeden did not move, his breathing even and deep. Illidan glanced around, the dark legion-patterned drapery entirely unfamiliar. Kil’jaeden was the only recognizable thing here. He sat on the disguised demon’s chest and put his hands on Kil’jaeden’s smooth face. “K’jay!”

“Hnngh…” Kil’jaeden half snored, not actually asleep but testing Illidan’s natural curiosity. The moment he moved his head a bit, Illidan grabbed hold of his nose and tugged on it.

Kil’jaeden slowly opened his eyes and sat up, Illidan tumbling into his lap. He made a show of rubbing his face and feigning annoyance.

“What was that for?”

Illidan got on his knees and clutched at Kil’jaeden’s robes. He looked a bit nervous, eyes wide and bottom lip bit.

“Where are we?”

“My bedroom.” said Kil’jaeden, wrapping one arm around Illidan’s waist. He figured he’d have to explain the decorative skulls and spikes so that Illidan wasn’t too creeped out. But that would come in a minute. First, he asked him something. “How are you feeling?”

Illidan shrank into Kil’jaeden’s half embrace. “Tired… my head hurts.”

“Aww… is that so?” Kil’jaeden cooed to him softly, placing a warm hand upon Illidan’s forehead. “You need to rest. I’ll look after you.” It was mightily out of character for him to behave thus, but he knew how he needed to act in order to reassure his new friend that all would be well. Sargeras had tasked him with gaining Illidan’s unshakable trust and loyalty, raising him and warping his beliefs so they aligned with the Legion’s. It was easier than breaking a fully grown night elf known as the ‘Betrayer’, after all. Sargeras had seen the future in this particular timeline, and sought to mess around with it. And he waited, upon his throne of skin and bone, for Kil’jaeden to arrive.

Kil’jaeden knew this, feeling his Master’s ire grow by the second. He had to speak with him or there would be consequences, the sort he could handle but preferred to avoid. Tentatively he approached the mind of the dark titan, cuddling Illidan as if he were a stuffed toy for comfort. Sargeras picked up on this and roared through their limited mental connection.

_\- DECEIVER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? –_

_‘Master. I have acquired Illidan and am working towards obtaining his trust, as you instructed.’_

_\- AND YOU COULD NOT SPARE A MOMENT TO REPORT TO ME? –_

_‘I beg your forgiveness. The opportunity to speed the process was given, and I took it. He is warming up to me somewhat. Rest assured that in a few years, all will be as you wish.’_

Sargeras did not reply, cutting off their connection and sending a jolt of pain into Kil’jaeden’s head. The demon stiffened, and Illidan looked up at him. After closing his eyes and calming himself, Kil’jaeden sighed.

“Come. Let’s get you something to wear.”

Illidan followed Kil’jaeden around the room, quickly taking interest in the artifacts placed too high for him to reach. Fel and arcane energies were trapped within orbs, weapons and trinkets of all sorts. Kil’jaeden disappeared into a closet that looked more like a dark portal, leaving Illidan to look around. Upon returning with a pile of fabric, he caught the elf playing with a plasma ball. It was a Legion Communicator, tendrils of fel energy reaching from the center and zapping at Illidan’s splayed fingers.

“Don’t touch that.” said Kil’jaeden, expecting Illidan to obey. Illidan did not.

“What does this do- eep!” He jumped back as a gout of flame erupted from the top of the ball and swirled in the shape of a demonic face. It pulsed around until Kil’jaeden slammed his hand down on it, canceling the accidental call. He’d pocket dialled Archimonde before, and it usually pissed him off. Illidan was staring at the ball in a mixture of fear and wonder.  “Ooooo…”

“You could have burned yourself.” Kil’jaeden did his best to sound compassionate, frowning. He knelt in front of Illidan and inspected his hands. “Be careful. Many of the things on this planet will be things you haven’t seen before. Might be dangerous, too.”

“Uhuh…” Illidan pulled his little hands back and fidgeted. He caught sight of the clothes beside Kil’jaeden and went to grab them. Kil’jaeden was there first, snatching them up.

“What did I just say?”

“Er..” Illidan looked guilty. Kil’jaeden sighed, spread out the robes he’d prepared and slipped them over Illidan’s head. They were sleeveless, and the elf got his arms through them easily enough.

“Right. Now you can come outside.”

“Outside?!” Illidan was excited first, but afraid second. “Wait… you said this is a different planet. Are there aliens?”

“Yes, there are aliens.” Kil’jaeden found the thought of his fellow demons to be considered thus quite amusing. “But you have nothing to fear if I am here. Alright? We’re just going around the house, not actually outside.”

“Ooh. Okay.” Illidan stepped back as Kil’jaeden straightened up, the perfect height for an average night elf. He found himself staring at his guardian’s eyes, golden just like his own. He reached up for Kil’jaeden’s hand and held onto a single finger, ready to be lead.

 _‘Awfully trusting…’_ Kil’jaeden thought, exiting his bedroom. _‘Just like our own children. Hm.’_ He caught himself reminiscing of the earliest days of his life, as an uncorrupted Eredar, a young genius who spent more time thinking than playing. Children _were_ precious among his people, but none existed now as the Burning Legion opposed all life, creating it being punishable by death.

_‘I shall have to watch this thing closely. Anything on Argus could kill him with a single glance.’_

Illidan eyed the hallway decorations nervously. “Why are there so many bones?”

“They were here when I got home one day. A gift of life that had passed.”

Illidan didn’t quite understand, but felt a bit less unsettled. Nothing moved or leered at him. Kil’jaeden was forcing the spirits, auras and whatnot back into the walls as they passed. He wondered how he would get Illidan to accept that there was no greater aesthetic than decorating your house with the bones of your slain enemies, tinting the carpets with their blood. Someday, they would get there. Someday.


	3. Chapter 3

The third floor of the palace belonged entirely to Kil’jaeden, and his own personal servants roamed about cleaning up the various rooms. They were mostly Eredar and Succubi, plus a single Nathrezim that made for quite a handsome butler. Galixus was busy polishing his horns when he saw two night elves pass by, and he had to take a moment to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Everyone had been informed of the proceedings… it was Lord Sargeras’s will after all. But seeing such uncommon beings… even if one _did_ carry Kil’jaeden’s aura…

It was none of his business. He turned his face away.

Illidan on the other hand was looking around, wide-eyed and with ears twitching.

“What’s that?” he asked, tugging on Kil’jaeden’s finger and pointing at an enormous chandelier. It was made of hardened fel crystal and assorted bones, perfectly symmetrical and crafted by Kil’jaeden’s own hands.

“A light fixture.” said the demon, eternally patient. “You ask many questions, little one.”

“What’s a fixture?”

Kil’jaeden sighed. “Something that stays where it is all the time.” Speaking in simple terms did not come naturally to him, not at all. “Come along.” He took Illidan into a large room with an entire wall missing, instead having a large window to look out of. Argus could be seen in all its corrupted glory, from the gaseous sky to the tainted, cracked ground. Illidan let go of his guardian’s finger and sprinted over to the window, stopping a few inches from it. Night elven architecture didn’t use glass, and he expected an empty space where the clear, hard surface was. Kil’jaeden watched those tiny hands plaster fingerprints all over the pristine glass and kept his face impassive.

“Woooooohhh…” Illidan’s eyes tracked felbats circling the Palace’s courtyard, and observed the many winged demons with awe. “Aliens!”

Kil’jaeden let the boy take his time, folding his thick arms as he thought over his intricate plans. Introducing a child to fel energy while keeping in their good graces was something he’d never even considered. The way of the Legion was through domination, force and brutality, not care and consideration. No wonder Sargeras had entrusted his finest tactician with this task – there was not a soul else who could handle it!

“Ah…” Kil’jaeden had been thinking for minutes, and Illidan was at his feet looking up with those huge golden eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“I want food.” said Illidan, showing off his tiny fangs in a weird grimace. “Is there food here?”

“Of course. But it’s different from what you’d usually eat…”

“Meat!” Illidan dove through Kil’jaeden’s legs and went out the door. “Let’s go find some meat!”

“Wait!” Kil’jaeden’s booming voice echoed through the Palace as did his heavy footsteps as he ran after the child. Keeping up this illusion was draining him slowly… but there was plenty of energy around to keep him stable.

_‘Let us hope this does not last too long… I ache to stretch my spirit already.’_

Illidan was one quick little thing, his eyes flicking about and taking in as much information as possible. Through twisting corridors he ran, the décor growing more terrifying by the second. Curtains made of stitched up faces hung from unnaturally long bones, and spikes adorned every handle in sight. The shadows wailed softly, eyes appearing in the walls and green mist coming out of the carpet when it was stepped on. Illidan gasped, his breath stinging his lungs as he inhaled, exhaled and coughed. Kil’jaeden easily located his presence and scooped him up, pushing away the acrid dust with a hand wave.

“What did I tell you about wandering off?” he growled, legitimate anger edging his voice. “I could have lost you!”

“G..Ghk..” Illidan doubled over in Kil’jaeden’s arms. “Ghwaaa...”

“Honestly. You are reckless, Illidan. But I will still get you something to eat. Can you breathe?”

Illidan inhaled obviously, sneezed, and let Kil’jaeden carry him to safety. He couldn’t comprehend what had just happened, only that a sense of dread had seeped into his mind surprisingly quickly and that bad things seemed to happen when he strayed from Kil’jaeden’s side. Kil’jaeden siphoned away the fear and confusion as they went to the second floor, the black marble tiles striated with bright green energy. Had Illidan been walking on them, the soles of his feet would have sizzled. Such was the effect of a pure being’s touch to anything tainted by the Fel. Over time, exposure would give him the resistance needed to survive on Argus. For now, though, Kil’jaeden would keep a close eye on him.

Beyond pillars and skittering creatures they approached the kitchens, where slaves were preparing things Kil’jaeden cared little for. He knocked on the nearest wall with a single, clawed finger and demanded fresh meat. In three seconds, a Wyrmtongue prostrated himself before the Eredar and held up a charred Felhound carcass.

Illidan stared at it. “Is that… a dog?”

“Yesss, yesss, very tasty…” the servant hissed. Kil’jaeden picked up the meat and smacked the servant across the face with it, a loud CRACK resounding throughout the kitchen.

“You have not prepared this at all!”  
“Not prepared!” Illidan repeated, having seen entire animals be roasted but never actually having eaten one like this.

The Wyrmtongue shook violently, trying to plead with his hands together but ending up a mess on the floor, writhing as Kil’jaeden cursed him with burning agony. Illidan looked from his guardian to the servant, who Kil’jaeden was obviously displeased with.

_‘Cool… he can make people do whatever he wants! He must be strong.’_

“K’jay, gimme some.” He pointed at the Felhound which had now split in half from the force of Kil’jaeden using it as a weapon. Kil’jaeden bit into the thing’s neck, chewed a little and then nodded.

“Alright. It is cooked well enough. I hope you do not mind the state of it.” He ripped off a leg and handed it to Illidan, who sank his teeth into the flesh at once. Illidan then grimaced.

“Yeeeesh! It’s hot!”

“Deal with it.” Kil’jaeden muttered, carrying Illidan and the rest of the meat out of the kitchen. On the way to the throne room he came across Mannoroth, who had been peacefully relaxing in front of an open window. It was boiling hot outside, and the massive pitlord was sunning himself like a cat. He scrambled to his feet as Kil’jaeden passed, saluting him. Illidan’s mouth dropped open.

“What is _THAT_?”

Mannoroth looked quite offended, and also wanted a piece of fresh meat. But Kil’jaeden ignored him and said to Illidan, “That is Mannoroth the Destructor. He likes to break things.”

“Ahh…” Illidan went back to nibbling his Felhound drumstick and eyed the pitlord warily. Mannoroth sneered, and went back to laying on his side.

_‘That kid won’t last a day.’_

“I will introduce you to our leader, Lord Sargeras.” Kil’jaeden spoke evenly as he made sure Illidan was safe and secure. He carried the boy in one arm, and ate breakfast with the other. “He might look a bit scary, but he won’t hurt you while I’m here.”

“Why do people want to hurt me?” Illidan chewed on the bone in his left hand, trying to bite through it.

“You are different, little one.” Kil’jaeden tilted his head a little and nuzzled the top of Illidan’s head with his nose. “They are afraid of what they do not understand.”

“But I’m just me.” said Illidan, looking up at Kil’jaeden’s kind face. “Just like you, kal’dorei.”  
“They are scared of me too, you know.” Kil’jaeden smiled gently, detecting that it soothed Illidan quite a bit. “They just know I am far too strong to even dare approach.”

“I wanna be strong too!” Fancying himself a warrior, Illidan waved around his bone. Kil’jaeden saw an opportunity and took it, descending the spiral staircase to the first floor.

“I will help you, then.” He finished off the rest of the Felhound, bones and all, and wiped his mouth. A little spout jutted from a cracked basin nearby, liquid fel pouring out of it and forming a nice pool on the floor. Kil’jaeden cupped some in his hand and drank it, making sure Illidan could see what he was doing.

“This will make you as strong as me if you drink some every day. It’s called ‘Fel’. Unique to Argus and quite magical.”

“Fel.” Illidan sniffed, and made a face. “It looks sour…”

“There is always a price to pay if you want something good.” said Kil’jaeden, ever patient. “Would you like some?”

“Okay!” Illidan saw no harm in the immediate gratification to be obtained from drinking the green goop, and leaned in towards the basin. Heat wavered before his face, singing his eyebrows with a _tsssss._ He looked up to Kil’jaeden, unsure. “It… will it burn?”

“Yes,” said the Eredar. “But not forever. Your strength, however, will stay with you for all eternity.”

“Nnn.” Illidan was thinking a little harder now, and Kil’jaeden wasn’t going to let him continue worrying. He cupped the fel in one hand and brought it to Illidan’s face, speaking in a deep, mesmerising voice.

**“Drink…”**

With a little mental manipulation, Illidan’s lips parted and he sipped from the corner of Kil’jaeden’s hand. He winced, turned his face away, but Kil’jaeden insistently pressed further and forced the entire handful of fel into Illidan’s mouth. Firm but casual he kept the elf from spitting it out and caressed his throat, letting him swallow in a single, easy motion.

“There’s a good boy…” he whispered, absorbing the remaining fel into his skin and stroking Illidan’s hair with his now clean hand. “Very good…”

“Nnnngggggnnn.” Illidan was tense all over, his fingers splayed and neck muscles contracting. His hot, shallow breaths increased as did his heart rate, and Kil’jaeden rocked him gently to ease the spread of the fel throughout his body. He did not want this to hurt or frighten Illidan. The fel was good, necessary and important. That was what he wanted to teach the child. And by the will of Sargeras, he would _learn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KOOL-AID


	4. Chapter 4

Kil’jaeden took Illidan to see Sargeras, who was sitting upon his throne of bones and unspeakable horrors reading something. If one looked closely enough, it would seem to be a newspaper made of several skins stitched together. The Dark Titan glanced up, sensing then seeing the visitors.

“You come at last…” His burning eyes peered at Illidan, who shrunk into the safety of Kil’jaeden’s hold. “Show yourself, child.”

“Myeeee…” Illidan’s mind was aflame with chaos, turbulent and roiling thoughts churning over and over, morphing into images he could not comprehend. The Fel was seeping into his bloodstream and running rampant against his immune system – and winning. He whimpered softly.

“Master.” Kil’jaeden called Sargeras’s attention with both voice and mind, opening himself to connect with Sargeras telepathically.

_-WHAT?-_

_‘I will need you to participate in my carefully crafted deceptions. Please inform the child that I have saved him from a terrible fate, and have been granted a position on your council for bravery or somesuch.’_

Sargeras smirked, his jagged teeth a black contrast against his flaming beard. He understood at once.

_-OF COURSE. YOU ARE NOT AS STUPID AS YOU LOOK, MR KAL’DOREI.-_

Kil’jaeden made a quiet sound of indignation and petted Illidan behind one pointy little ear.

“Illidan… say hello to our leader.”

Illidan quivered, having nearly pissed himself at the sight of the enormous, horned behemoth that was Sargeras.

“S..s…scary…”

“He is quite formidable, isn’t he? The strongest being in the universe.”

“Oh, quit your posturing, Kil’jaeden.” Sargeras waved a dismissive hand but was clearly pleased, preening and proud. “How is he settling in?”

Kil’jaeden paused for a moment, thoroughly rattled by Sargeras’s attempt at conversational niceties.

 _‘Oh…’_ he thought to himself. _‘He’s serious about seeing this project through. Well then, I shall impress him.’_

“Quite well, as am I. We are still finding our way around.”

“Of course, you kal’dorei have never seen the majesty of Argus nor breathed air so clean in all your lives.” Sargeras was hamming it up, gesticulating wildly with an enormous, clawed hand. “You simply _must_ relax, enjoy the Fel and live out your days in peace. Do as you like, no enemies can reach us here.” He winked at Illidan, who Kil’jaeden was calming as the seconds ticked by. Sargeras’s acting fooled the child well enough, and though frightened by the Titan’s appearance, Illidan wriggled to get a better look at him. Sargeras smiled like a Felhound in a mana pool.

“Ahhhh, there you are. What a curious little thing…”

“I’m Illidan!” said Illidan as if refuting that he was a mere ‘thing’. “What are you?”

“God.” said Sargeras, and stretched out his huge, muscular arms. Fel-infused veins lit up in flowing patterns all the way to his fingertips, flames dancing around his head. Illidan’s mouth dropped open and he looked to Kil’jaeden, who bowed down low.

“Yes,” he whispered to Illidan. “He is our mighty Lord, Master and Creator. Greater than Elune, even.”

“Wooooooooooooooooooh…” Illidan believed him, the show of power enough to bamboozle his impressionable eyes. “U..uhm!” He quickly imitated Kil’jaeden’s posture, dipping his entire upper body down. “Thanks for letting us stay here, Mister Sargeras!”

Sargeras’s deep, booming laughter rolled throughout the Palace as he swept a hand through the air.

“Stay as long as you like! And be careful.” He nodded in dismissal, and Kil’jaeden straightened up, carrying Illidan out of the throneroom. Illidan craned his neck back to get a final peep at Sargeras.

“A God…”  
“Mhm. You must show him utmost respect at all times, as he has granted us safe refuge in his home.”  
“How come?” asked Illidan, pressing his face into Kil’jaeden’s shoulder. “We haven’t done anything special.”

“You may not feel worthy, but I do. I saved your life.” Kil’jaeden’s hand drifted to Illidan’s back and rested there, while the boy sat cradled in his other arm. “Acts of bravery and valour are rewarded here, it’s a part of their culture. Well… our culture now, I suppose. We belong here, you and I. This is our new home.” As he spoke, he strode out of the Palace’s doors which were held open by two silent Doomguards. He peeled Illidan away and turned him to face the majesty of Argus, the view from up high on this peak utterly breathtaking. Or maybe that was just the fel mist. Either way, Illidan gasped, coughed and was held out like a newborn pitlord to see the world. Dark mountains stabbed the yellow-green sky in the distance while a vast, rocky landscape seethed with Fel. There were no trees anywhere at all, but Argus was certainly full of other lifeforms. Demons of all shapes and sizes went about their business, which generally included killing, eating, yelling and teleporting. Illidan wanted to get down there and check it out the moment he saw an Infernal crash down from the sky and stand up out of its very own crater.

“Ooh! Look! That guy came out of the sky!”

Cuddling Illidan close again, Kil’jaeden had to restrain himself from unfurling his wings and flying down to the city below.

“Yes, he did. You can do it too one day, you know.”

“Whaaaaaaa?”

“Would you like to fly?”

“Tha… that’s impossible! People don’t fly!”

“Oh yeah?” One of the Doomguards had overheard him and before Kil’jaeden could say a single word, leathery wings stretched out and carried the demon into the sky. The look on Illidan’s face was priceless. Eyes wide, jaw nearly on the floor, a little bit of drool…

“They do.” Kil’jaeden closed Illidan’s mouth with a tap of his finger. “I myself am learning how to do it.”

“Me too! Me too!” Illidan thrashed around so much that he slipped out of his guardian’s grasp and landed on his feet, running around Kil’jaeden in circles. “I wanna fly!”

The Doomguard laughed, doing a backflip in the air. “You should teach him, Sir. Get a good bit of Fel running through him.”

“Not yet.” Kil’jaeden muttered, trying to catch the increasingly speedy night elf. “Come here!”

“Nyahhh!” Illidan reached for the Doomguard’s hooves and grabbed on to his ankles. “Yeah! Let’s go!”

“Oh no you don’t.” Kil’jaeden reached up, tugged Illidan down and held him close. “You must have a death wish. Ai….” He could feel his hair graying further beneath his facade. “Don’t grab people’s legs!”

“Awa~” Squirming, Illidan tried to reach around Kil’jaeden’s broad chest to feel at his back. “Where’s your wings, K’jay?”

“Still growing.” said Kil’jaeden. He gave the airborne Doomguard a warning look to stay silent as he worked his deceptions. “It takes time.”

“Bwahh! I wanna fly NOW!”

“Mmmm…” Kil’jaeden seemed to contemplate this, giving Illidan the idea that it was possible to manipulate him. Illidan stilled, bringing his hands to the Eredar’s illusionary purple face.

“You’ll teach me, won’t you, K’jay?” He put on the sweetest voice he could, batting his eyelashes at Kil’jaeden and pouting. It had the opposite effect, disgusting Kil’jaeden to think that anyone could even _consider_ influencing him. Still, his intelligence was greater than his emotional response, and he played along.

“I could… but it’s not easy. It takes a lot of fel magic to help you grow those wings. It might even hurt.”

“More fel! Let’s get some!” Illidan pointed towards a huge green lake to the west. “That’s it, yeah?”

“Yes.” Kil’jaeden clicked his fingers, a simple portal opening up within seconds. “Now come.” He carried Illidan through before any hesitation could stall their journey to greatness. Unlocking flying was going to be _awesome_.

 

~

 

Kil’jaeden put Illidan down as they reached the lake, explaining their journey with the simple answer of  ‘ **magic** ’. Teleportation was as easy as breathing for most intelligent creatures on Argus, and Kil’jaeden had the skills to go anywhere he pleased. He removed his robes and stretched his nude body for a solid minute, fingers reaching to the sky and skin absorbing glorious energy. A sense of relief washed over him, calm and relaxing as he became centered in the presence of pure fel. Illidan had the opposite reaction, growing paranoid and clutching his head.

“K’jay, who’s saying that?” He looked around, hiding behind the Eredar’s legs. Voices whispered in tongues that sounded mightily threatening.

“I don’t hear anything.” said Kil’jaeden. “Are you scared?”

“N…nhhn…” Illidan couldn’t see anything to be scared of, but this feeling was making his bones ache and a tight knot had formed in the pit of his stomach. He groaned softly. “Hurts…”

“I said it would. I feel it too, you know.” Kil’jaeden lied. Illidan looked up to see Kil’jaeden wincing, partially legit as he was resisting the urge to morph into his true form. “Ggghh…”

“K-K’jay, let’s go back…” Illidan’s voice quivered as he watched Kil’jaeden act out a realistic simulation of agony. “I…”

“Aaaaarghhh!” Kil’jaeden suddenly convulsed, sticking a leg out like a cabaret dancer, and pitched backwards into the lake.

“YAAAH!” Illidan lunged forth to grab him, decorum be damned, but Kil’jaeden had disappeared into the lake and could no longer be heard screaming. Illidan’s eyes filled with tears and his face twisted into a horrifying grimace as he swished his hands in the fel at the edge of the lake, crying out as the voices whispered louder and more comprehensible things.

_‘Leave this place.’_

Illidan didn’t know how, and frantically searched for anything he could use. Rocks, mist, a lot of mist actually… it was closing in on him and ah, his hands were on fire! He crawled away from the lake, sobbing from the pain. His fingers were covered in blisters, the skin mostly peeled away, but his nails were longer than ever, black and clawed. The lake started bubbling and frothing, Illidan’s eyes unable to look away now as a hand stuck out of the fel. It was Kil’jaeden! Illidan gasped, his horror turning to a joyous kind of shock where he could do nothing more than laugh. Kil’jaeden swirled up into the air like a Sailor Moon character, born anew with huge red wings wrapped around his body. They burst open, dripping green liquid down strong bones and sinew. Kil’jaeden had altered his illusion while submerged and gave the boy a good look at what the fel could do. He flapped once, twice, and landed beside Illidan.

“K’jaaaaaaaaaay!” Illidan threw himself at the Eredar, uncaring for how sticky he was. “I thought you were dead!”  
“No death here, little one.” said Kil’jaeden. “Only power. Look at my new wings!” He showed off, flexing and turning a full circle. “Aaahh…”

“It really hurts.” Illidan sucked on his fingers, blinking his huge, wet eyes. “Mhhhn…” He was awestruck at Kil’jaeden’s pain resistance – if his hands hurt this much from dabbling in the fel, what then would Kil’jaeden feel if he’d taken a bath in it? “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes… Urgh, I think I will rest later. My back…” He gestured.

_‘The child has empathy… I will need to crush it.’_

“Let’s go home.” Illidan reached out, sniffling as his fingers sizzled. Kil’jaeden took Illidan by the hand and then released him.

“I’m sorry if you hurt yourself. But that is how you get stronger, by living through pain.”

“Uh huh.” Illidan was soon scooped up and taken to the Palace, where Kil’jaeden got him fed and looked after. Settled amongst the pillows on Kil’jaeden’s bed, Illidan curled into a little ball and had a bit of a snooze. The Eredar watched him, slowly extending and retracting his wings.

_‘Progress.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will detail more of Argus as information on the PTR is released regarding what's canon in patch 7.3... but for now, I'm having fun with my creativity and using what knowledge is available to build the world. Things are described perhaps vaguely... I trust in your imagination to fill things in! :D


	5. Chapter 5

Kil’jaeden awoke to Illidan whining and pawing at his face. A quick check on the boy’s mind revealed that he was in terrible pain, so much that he could not endure it quietly. Kil’jaeden shifted up into a half seated position on his wings. He cradled Illidan close to his chest, noting how the elf stuck to him as if they were bonded by blood. How… _precious,_ he thought.

“What is the matter, little one?” Kil’jaeden murmured softly, his eyes glowing a calming gold in the darkness.

“It hurts…” Illidan wailed. “Over here.” He writhed around, squeaking feebly. “K’jay…!”

Kil’jaeden almost pitied him, finding a surge of numbness block the burgeoning emotions that dared interfere with his work.

“You are growing stronger, Illidan.” He put a hand on Illidan’s shoulder blades and felt a protrusion of extra bone just beneath the skin. “Whenever it hurts, remember that.”

Illidan’s breath hitched and he wept into Kil’jaeden’s neck, hearing nothing and feeling far too much.

“Shhhhh… It will not last forever.” Kil’jaeden’s mind whirled in a storm of options as to what he could do to solve this problem. If Illidan saw change as inexplicable agony, he would not take to further transformation kindly.

 _‘I could put him to sleep… like Tichondrius does with his enemies… but that will ruin his brain stem – no, that wouldn’t work. There’s nothing on Argus to ease pain, rather there are countless means by which to cause it. Gah! What am I supposed to do? Fel corruption always hurts, it is how it is! He will just have to deal with it!’_ There was a concerning lack of conviction in Kil’jaeden’s inner voice, for a moment sounding like his old friend (and current enemy) Velen was chiding him from afar. He was saying something like, _‘Have mercy… compassion… take it slow.’_

“Pah!” Kil’jaeden shook his head. “You will live. Sleep now…”

Illidan could not, and only exhaustion could send him into the torturous land of fel-tainted nightmares.

Come morning, Illidan woke irritable and achy. He glared at Kil’jaeden, who had been watching him all night. Kil’jaeden blinked.

“What?”

“You have weird things on your head.”

“Oh…?” Kil’jaeden lifted one hand and rubbed what he’d made out to be budding horns at the sides of his head. “So it seems. You do too.”

“Wha! Where?” Illidan touched his own forehead and winced. Tiny nubs were pushing through the skin, blood trickling in thin lines down his face. Kil’jaeden wiped it with a thumb, gazing evenly at the boy.

“Your horns are growing. Soon, you’ll fit in with everyone on Argus.”

“I’m gonna look like an alien?!” Illidan panicked, trying to push at his horns to make them recede into his skull. When Kil’jaeden didn’t stop him, he tried to make him pay attention. “H..hey!”

“What?” Kil’jaeden was grooming his illusory black hair with his clawed fingers. He didn’t seem bothered by the supposedly ‘new’ growths on his own head, showing no sign of pain at all. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“But it hurts, and it looks funny!”

“No it doesn’t.” Kil’jaeden said calmly. “You want to see what really hurts?”

Illidan squinted. “Nuh uh.”

“Then stop complaining, little one. That kind of whining is _weak_.”

“I’m not weak!” Illidan stood up and jumped on Kil’jaeden’s stomach angrily. “Myaah!”

It felt as if a kitten was pouncing on Kil’jaeden’s individual abdominal muscles, and the Eredar lord smiled through his stern countenance.

“Oh, ouch.” He stretched his wings back and then out to his sides, sitting so Illidan fell into his lap. The child scrambled to grab hold of Kil’jaeden’s long hair and tugged at it.

“Hurts like THIS!”

Kil’jaeden winced, feeling only mild annoyance. “Graaah! I get it!”

“No you don’t!” Illidan pulled harder, though he didn’t have the strength to actually rip Kil’jaeden’s hair out. Frustrated, he screeched incoherently and smacked Kil’jaeden’s chin with a shaky fist. Kil’jaeden’s teeth clicked together and he suddenly pulled back his lips, snarling at Illidan.

“Stop that!” For a moment his monstrous visage struck the fear of Sargeras into Illidan, seeing fire in his previously docile guardian’s eyes. Illidan shrank away, diving sideways into a pile of lush green blankets. Kil’jaeden breathed in, stretched his arms out in front of him all the way to his fingertips, and sighed. In silence he got out of bed, brushed the covers into place with a wing and drifted over to his ensuite. He didn’t have feeling in the soles of his feet, due to being a hooved demon in a projected body, so the cold tiles went completely unnoticed… as did the liquid on the floor. Kil’jaeden noticed soon enough when he slipped abruptly, something he hadn’t done in millenia, and crashed into the nearby sink.

“ **FUCK**!” he swore in Eredun, pain wracking his body as a decorative spike tore a hole in one of his wings. Fel energies seeped out and closed the wound easily enough, but it stung like hell and pissed Kil’jaeden off immediately. He righted himself through sheer force of will and parted his majestic thighs to look down between his legs. Directly beneath him, there was a glistening mess of something wet and it definitely wasn’t Fel.

“……….ILLIDAAAAAAAAN!”

“YEEP!” Illidan shrieked, tugging his blanket shield closer around himself.

“DID YOU PISS ALL OVER MY FLOOR?!”

“I’m sorry! I had to!”

“YOU COULD HAVE GONE IN THE SINK!” Kil’jaeden roared, storming out of the bathroom with a merciless edge to his voice. Illidan started to wail, a horrible rush of sound and energy assaulting his ears and squeezing his brain. He barely remembered creeping around in the middle of the night, nothing on his mind but the urge to _get this out_. Kil’jaeden hadn’t noticed, having actually been asleep after a long day of micromanaging Illidan’s thoughts. Using so much of his mental power while at the same time maintaining an illusion and thinking into the future… it was enough to exhaust anyone. Kil’jaeden wiped his feet on the fluffy black carpet made of Felhound skins and Doomguard scalps.

“Rrrrrghhh!”

“Uwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” Illidan had never seen anyone so angry before and despaired, at a complete loss on what to do. He hid, somewhat glad he’d already voided his bowels a few hours prior. Kil’jaeden was terrifying the very skin off his bones.

“Galixus!” Kil’jaeden called his loyal servant and the Dreadlord came running. “Clean this up at once!”

“Yes, Sir.” Galixus passed Kil’jaeden and set to work scouring the bathroom with felfire. Kil’jaeden let his illusion fall, growing in size until his head nearly touched the doorway he strode through. Less than two days had passed and his nerves were already shot – and he knew why. He feared the wrath of Sargeras like nothing else, and if he failed the task of raising this completely random night elf child into a pawn of the Legion, he would likely face ten thousand years of torment. And it wasn’t going to be fun. Sargeras knew how to get under his skin, how to wrench his soul from his body and peel away his most solid resistances in thin strips. The Dark Titan was utterly mad in his methods and machinations. Kil’jaeden knew he would not survive whatever Sargeras did to those who failed him. He’d only seen the end results, and the memories made him shiver. What had been done to Velen’s son, in particular, was an image that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

Kil’jaeden only needed a few minutes of scorching air on the Palace’s western balcony, time to himself and a focus on a fel crystal to regain his composure. In his bedroom, Galixus had finished cleaning up and was moseying about the room making sure everything was tidy. He made the bed, and in the process of doing so unveiled Illidan in his blanket pile. The night elf looked up into the face of what seemed to be his immediate doom, and quailed.

“Hm? What are you doing under there?” said Galixus in his suave, deep voice. “Give me those.” He tugged at the blankets, rolling them out from underneath Illidan who retreated as far back on the bed as possible. Once everything was folded and neat, Galixus inspected him.

“Are you well, child?”

Illidan blinked a few times, his teary eyes stinging. “N…Nnn…”

“Oh, dear. You aren’t used to Master Kil’jaeden’s temperament at all, are you?” Galixus knelt, his massive curled horns casting a shadow over Illidan’s bare legs. “He likes to keep things clean. Do try not to make a mess of his chambers, hm?”

Though the Dreadlord was physically imposing, his posture, tone and gaze were not. Illidan saw no immediate threat once he’d assessed things for a few seconds, and tried to answer back.

“Who are you?”

Galixus bowed his head. “Galixus, the Head of Staff here.”

“Why don’t you have any wings?” Illidan shifted to try and get a better look, but it was obvious the demon before him didn’t have any wings. Galixus raised his brows ever so slightly.

“I do not need them.”

“Eeh…” Wiping his eyes, Illidan crawled closer and sat in a kneeling position. “Don’t you want to fly?”

The Dreadlord’s back muscles twitched, where once he had wings but now only scars remained.

“No,” he said after a moment. “I do not.”

“You’re very serious.” Illidan pointed out. “Even more than K’jay…”

Galixus coughed, holding back laughter. “Is… is that what you call him?”

“That’s his name, isn’t it?” Illidan looked around, noticing for the first time in minutes that his guardian was missing. “Wait, where did he go?”

“Off to mind his own business, I suppose. It’s not for me to know. I just do as he asks.”

“You’re a servant!” Illidan proclaimed, having known how Queen Azshara had lived in Suramar. She always had people to look after her needs. Everything was starting to fall into place, and with a start he realized that he’d been rescued by someone important enough to hold the attention of Argus’s most high-ranking individuals. Questions flooded his mind. “How come you serve K’jay?”

Galixus knew the story well. “He is a powerful military leader, or _was_ on whatever planet he saved you from.”

“Azeroth,” said Illidan. “Our world was Azeroth, and we lived on Kalimdor with…” His words died on his lips. _‘Malfurion… Tyrande… They’re still there! It’s dangerous! I have to get K’jay to rescue them, too!’_

Galixus could sense panic rising in the air and subdued it with a powerful, mind-scattering spell.

“There’s no use reminiscing…” he said hypnotically, wagging his finger before Illidan’s face. “You live here now, and Master Kil’jaeden will take good care of you.”

“Ohh…” Illidan’s thoughts were scrambled, too slippery to focus on beside the clear and concise words of Galixus. “I understand.”

“Good.” Galixus rose, patting the top of Illidan’s head and making sure not to touch his budding horns. “Now, then. I have work to do. Would you like anything to eat?”

“Nnn… can I have some Fel?” Illidan melted into a lazy sprawl on his side. “K’jay says it’s good for me.”

“It sure is.” Galixus smiled and made his way to the door. “I will return shortly.”  
And he did, in two minutes with a bowl of steaming hot green goop. There were little nuggets floating in it for some extra crunch, but also extra corruption. The moment it was within sight, Illidan was drawn to it as if his skin hungered to be infused with chaotic power. Fel was nothing if not addictive, and Illidan grabbed the bowl once Galixus got close enough. The Dreadlord watched him drink it, admiring his appetite.

 _‘He looks quite healthy.’_ he thought, leaving Illidan to his meal. _‘Master Kil’jaeden will raise him well.’_

Kil’jaeden passed Galixus who nodded to him respectfully in the hallway. Back in his night elven form, Kil’jaeden was calm and collected as he entered his chambers to find Illidan gulping liquid fel from an iron bowl. When Illidan put the empty bowl down, his face was covered in fel and some of it even dripped from his nose. He grinned widely at Kil’jaeden, panting.

“Ehe..” There was a wild look in his eyes, the golden orbs swirling with green energy, sparkling and bright. He showed the bowl to Kil’jaeden. “I drank it all.”

“Hm!” Kil’jaeden had to admit, he was pleased at Illidan’s natural attraction to the fel. “Well done. You will grow nicely with this in your body.” He reached out and picked Illidan up, setting him on the floor. “Wipe your face.”

Illidan plastered his hand to his own cheeks and rubbed vigorously. Kil’jaeden sighed.

“I’ll do it…” He bent down and picked up a random scrap of leather, attempting to clean Illidan with it. “You’re a messy eater, aren’t you?”

“Ngheh.” Illidan tossed his head to one side, laughing. “That tickles!”

“Hmph. You’ll stain your clothes if you keep moving around like that. Hold still!” Kil’jaeden used both hands to keep Illidan steady, dropping the rag and instead licking him clean. Illidan giggled even more, but was kept in place until his face showed no traces of fel residue. Kil’jaeden stood up and smoothed out his dark robes.

“Good. Now, what shall we do today?”

“I wanna explore!” Illidan chirped, happy that Kil’jaeden had seemingly forgotten his morning misdemeanour.

“Not so fast.” came the voice of Archimonde from the doorway. Both Illidan and Kil’jaeden turned as the tall, armored demon strode in. Illidan gawked at his facial tentacles, having never seen anyone with what seemed to be worms dangling from their face.

“Ah, Archimonde.” Kil’jaeden approached him and they touched foreheads, a traditional greeting among the Eredar. “What can I do for you?”

“Things seem to be going well.” Archimonde muttered, gesturing to Illidan with one of his tentacles. He then brushed Kil’jaeden’s cheek with the tip of it, contemplative. “You are sorely missed at the council today.”

“I… lost track of time.” Kil’jaeden replied evenly, knowing fully well that he’d bludged the meeting on purpose.

“We need our tactician if we’re going to succeed at war, brother. Or would you prefer me to take charge?”

“There’s no harm in that.” said Kil’jaeden. “Oh wait, there is. Utter destruction and defilement. That’s my Archi.” He made a soft trilling noise as Archimonde tickled the side of his neck, sinking into the pleasant warmth of comeraderie. Just bros being bros. You know.

Illidan crept up to the two and crouched behind Kil’jaeden’s legs, eyeballing Archimonde’s hooves.

“Ooooh…”

Archimonde looked down, raising a suspicious eyebrow. Illidan tugged on Kil’jaeden’s sleeve.

“K’jay, he has a _tail_!” he whispered none too discreetly.

“Of course I do.” Archimonde squared his shoulders with pride, his thick tail swishing back and forth. “Just as you have those pointy little ears.” He bent down and went to poke Illidan, but child shrank away from him. He narrowed his venomous green eyes. “I won’t bite you.”

Illidan looked up to Kil’jaeden, who was watching with mild amusement.   
“Oh, he trusts you already!” Archimonde scoffed at the nonverbal exchange. “Very well, then. Kil’jaeden, come. The council has need of you.”

“Hey!” Illidan stood as tall as he could, fueled by the fel to challenge Archimonde. “You can’t boss him around! He’s _important!”_ He pronounced it as _impotent_ , however, and Kil’jaeden burst out laughing. He covered his face with one hand, wings quivering. Illidan glanced at him. “What?”

“You _dare_ speak against me, child?” Archimonde bared his teeth at Illidan, and was thoroughly shocked to see him do the same.

“Grrrr!” Illidan did his best to look menacing while Kil’jaeden kekked himself into orbit. “Don’t you know who he is?”

“Of course I do, we work together!”

“He.. aaah, he’s right, you know. We both serve Lord Sargeras.” Kil’jaeden bent and put a hand on Illidan’s shoulder. “Calm down, little one.”

“Li-” Archimonde was actually speechless, and stared at Kil’jaeden. He needled his friend’s mind through their telepathic connection, questioning if he’d grown attached.

_‘No, brother. Ease yourself, I am no more attached to this thing than you are to the orphaned children of your enemies.’_

_‘ **Hmph! You sound plenty attached to me! And I haven’t heard you laugh like that in centuries!’**_

_‘What? He’s an amusing, foolish child. Let me live a little.’_

Archimonde shook his head, tentacles swaying from side to side. Before he could say anything, Kil’jaeden spoke.

“Illidan, would you like to see the work that I do?”

“Yeah! Mealy-terry work!” Illidan remembered what Galixus had told him, even if he hadn’t understood entirely.

“Military, Illidan. With soldiers and weapons and the like.” Kil’jaeden scooped the boy up into his arms and Illidan settled nicely with his head in Kil’jaeden’s neck. He chewed on his thumb, lips curling into a smile. Archimonde rolled his eyes, exasperated.

“For Darkness’ sake…! Just hurry up.” He strode down the hallway, hooves clicking against the floor at a marching pace. Kil’jaeden fell into step beside him and they went to the second floor where a huge conference hall was buzzing with activity. Even when serious matters were being discussed, the forces of the Burning Legion were as chaotic and destructive as ever. An Eredar Overseer chased five imps that had stolen his paperwork and were threatening to burn it, while a black-suited Incubus stood watching in disapproval. Two Felhounds capered about under the circular table, nipping at the heels of anyone anxious enough to be shifting in their seats. In the center of the table was a huge green orb, floating above a four-pointed star cast in dark fel iron. Continents swirled clockwise on the orb’s surface, representing a planet one of the council members had been interested in. As Archimonde entered with Kil’jaeden and Illidan in tow, heads turned and bowed in deference. Archimonde approached his seat beside Kil’jaeden’s, proclaiming loudly.

“I have summoned our glorious tactician!”

Cheers went up and a few fireballs were thrown about, too. The Overseer tripped over someone’s leg (stuck out on purpose) and he gave up on trying to retrieve his documents. Illidan watched the scampering imps, delighted.

“Ooh! What are those?”

“Imps,” said Kil’jaeden as he sat down in his own high-backed chair, wings comfortably folded behind his back. “Nasty little vermin. You can play with them if you like.”

“Yeee~!” Illidan wriggled out of Kil’jaeden’s grasp and tumbled to the floor, landing on all fours. He came face to face with a Felhound, the creature a big fat puff ball with two long tentacles protruding from its back. It also had no eyes, and opened its bony maw, panting. Illidan recognized it as a ‘dog’ and patted its face, receiving many slobbery licks in return. While Illidan was getting his mlems, Kil’jaeden leaned forwards.

“Now, then. What is there to discuss?”

“We, ehm… were hoping you could lead us on that, Sir.” said Zarthok, a bulky Doomguard wearing little more than a belt and loincloth. “The Master wants a way into the Well of Eternity, and we’re hard pressed to contact those who use it.”

“That’s not my problem.” said Kil’jaeden, his eyes doing a full sweep of the room. They landed on Hakkar the Houndmaster. “It’s yours.”

“Damn it!” Hakkar spat, one of his felhounds nuzzling him for support. “I mean, yessss, of coursssse I’ll deal with those sssstupid pointy-eared prickssss.”

The council meeting took place in demonic tongues unknown to Illidan, and Kil’jaeden had stopped his realtime telepathic translating of the common languages spoken on Argus. Scheming was going on regarding the fate of the night elves, and Kil’jaeden would not have Illidan understand, worry and interrupt. He glanced through the table with spectral sight to see Illidan rolling around with his new puppy. A soft warmth filled his chest and he smiled, letting the feeling spread through his body. Archimonde then flicked his thigh, silently demanding him to pay attention. Kil’jaeden was brought back into the present conversation and lowered his brows, changing the orb display to Azeroth.

“Lord Sargeras is watching the night elves and their rituals at all hours of the day, waiting for a chance to contact one of them. Hakkar, you are the most adept with teleportation and thus we will recommend you to be our ambassador on the other side.” The orb’s display changed to a close-up of the Well, many night elves around it seeming to concenrate while standing with outstretched arms. Kil’jaeden continued his explanation. “Once you are there, you will promise their highest ranked officials power and let them taste it, ensuring also an open gateway for our Lord to relay orders. At present we may scry upon them, but direct contact cannot be made between each world. Tempt them. Manipulate them. Use the Well as a portal to bring our Lord’s glorious figure through to Azeroth. And then we kill them all.”

“Excellent!” Archimonde nudged Kil’jaeden with his elbow, cackling. “That’s what I’m talking about. I can’t wait to slaughter those floppy-eared fucks. Just looking at you wearing the skin of one…”

Kil’jaeden made a dismissive motion with his right hand. “Eh. It will not last forever. And while our Lord has plans with this one…” He gestured to Illidan, who had clambered onto Mannoroth’s back and was sitting on him as if mounted. “I won’t have any of you slake your bloodlust with the project child, understood?”

“Understood.” said those of the council who dared to speak. Mannoroth’s frog-like features were creased in a permanent frown, his arms folded.

_“Get this thing off me…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to keep the other demonic characters in-character as best I can, but you know... I really don't think they'd be all mean and growly 24/7. This is their domestic home life, they interact with their allies with a basic level of respect... they wouldn't be waxing lyrical about doom and destruction when having a discussion at dinner or something. Well they might, but not raid-boss style. Ya know? I like to humanise them a little, make them somewhat relatable.  
> But yeah Archimonde's an asshole lol no coming back from that
> 
> For more domestic Legion shenanigans, stay tuned for a suburban life TV series featuring those Burning Lads... (est release date oct 2017)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illidan does a learn!

A few days passed, and every morning Illidan drank his fel and followed Kil’jaeden to work. Kil’jaeden didn’t actually have that much to do as Sargeras had assigned him to Illidan Duty for the next century, so he had to come up with things to keep the child occupied. After breakfast, they would go to Kil’jaeden’s office and read over some documents, with Kil’jaeden teaching Illidan how to interpret symbols, runes and shorthand writing. While he did this, he let knowledge of Eredun seep into the boy’s fertile mind, making sure to take things slowly even though Illidan always hungered for more. He seemed to enjoy learning things, especially as Kil’jaeden praised him upon successful information recall. There were little concentrated fel sweets he had in a drawer that he fed Illidan after a nice bit of tuition. With positive reinforcement, Illidan sponged up all the information Kil’jaeden offered. Kil’jaeden knew how mortal minds worked, and immortal ones too as he had access to many of those. He structured Illidan’s lessons in a sensible manner, progressing through topics in sequence and testing the child’s memory until he was certain things were locked into place. It would take a few years for the complexities of Eredun to be seated in Illidan’s head, and a few more for him to begin casting spells in the dark tongue. But Kil’jaeden was happy to converse with him in his own native language, easing out Darnassian and acclimatizing Illidan to his surroundings on Argus. In fact, Kil’jaeden didn’t speak to Illidan in Darnassian at all. He gifted the boy with an understanding of Eredun, and let him make the connections between what was said and how he could reply. Illidan’s intelligence carried him in leaps and bounds to fluency within the year, speaking as well as someone his age could. Immersed and encouraged, Illidan flourished.

One day, they were sitting together in one of the Palace’s many living rooms. Kil’jaeden reclined in a massive felbat leather armchair with Illidan in his lap, both wearing shorts as it was damn hot outside. The illuminated green sky cast light into the room, warming the back of Kil’jaeden’s head and wings.

“Now, how about this one?” Kil’jaeden pointed with one black claw to a sentence in the book he had open. The letters were in the common Eredun that everything was scribed in, glowing softly. Illidan leaned over and peered at the neat letters.

“The most common techni-que for skinning…”

“Technique, Illidan. That’s a long one, try from the beginning.”

“Technique?” Illidan repeated in the same tone Kil’jaeden had used, gentle and unobtrusive. “But que by itself sounds different…”

“This is one of those words that has its own unique sound. See? Technique, unique, they both end in que, but it is pronounced ‘ke’.”

“Okay!” Illidan was eager to get back to reading the passage, and started again. “The most common technique for skinning is to hold your blade at a four-five degree angle…” He heard Kil’jaeden’s breath hitch as if resisting interruption. Turning his head, eager for reinforcement, he asked. “Wrong?”

“Forty-five, not four-five.” Kil’jaeden said. “Let me show you.” He picked up a nearby knife that he’d been using as a bookmark and closed the book, keeping one finger on the page they’d been reading. He positioned the knife at a ninety-degree angle poking into the cover of the book, and let Illidan see. “This is ninety.” He slowly pivoted the knife. “This is fourty-five, half of ninety.” It was very clearly half of the distance between the book’s cover and the knife’s previous position, and Illidan understood. “Uhuh…”

“And this is zero.” Kil’jaeden let the knife rest flat on the book. “No more angles. All gone.”

“Forty-five… the numbers make a big one when they’re together, right?”

“That’s right. Here, look at this.” Illidan etched ‘45’ and ‘54’ into the cover of the book just lightly enough for it to be noticeable. “Which one is bigger?”

“Fifty-four! The five is first, so it’s better than four.” Bigger, stronger to his mind.

“That’s right!” Kil’jaeden put the knife down and ruffled Illidan’s hair. “You’re doing so well. Let’s continue, hm?”

“Yeah!”

They kept reading _Atrigan’s All-Purpose Guide to Flaying_ until the sky darkened and Illidan’s voice quieted.

“That’s enough for today.” said Kil’jaeden, marking the finished chapter and setting the book aside. He stood, carrying Illidan in his strong arms. Over the past year he’d made incremental changes to his appearance every day, so small that Illidan hadn’t noticed all. Or if he had, he chose not to say anything. Kil’jaeden’s illusory skin was a quarter of the way to its natural red colour, while his horns were half grown and his eyes almost completely green. Letting his true form seep through his illusion was a great way to conserve energy and also let Illidan get used to Kil’jaeden’s normal state. Illidan’s own body was growing too, his horns now jutting an inch from his forehead and wings stretching out from his shoulderblades. He was a lithe, wispy child with boundless energy and an insatiable appetite for the Fel. Kil’jaeden was ever eager to feed him more knowledge, affection and meat in the name of Lord Sargeras. But he really didn’t consider Sargeras’s will that much when he was attending to the boy. It just seemed like one thing he had to do, then another, then everything else just flowed forth in line with the Deciever’s vast schemes.

He barely realized that he was becoming the father Illidan never had, raising the son he’d never dreamed of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( For reference as to Illidan’s intelligence, I myself was able to understand halves/quarters and spell words of nine letters at the age of seven, so it makes sense to me for little Illidan to be able to do this too. So pls don’t come yell at me for making an unrealistic child character ahahah I base his development in what I know to be realistically possible, pushing it a little because FANTASY FIC LOL))


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dubcon warning

When Illidan was six years and five months, he awoke one morning unable to move his toes. The first thing he did was stretch and snuggle up against Kil’jaeden, but stretching didn’t feel as satisfying as it usually did. He frowned.

“What’s the matter?” asked Kil’jaeden, rubbing at one of his facial tendrils that was itching as it tried to protrude out of his illusion.

Illidan didn’t say anything, and hiked up his green spidersilk robe to reveal his legs. He stared at his feet, and found them numb.

“Eeh… I can’t feel anything!”

“Oh.” Kil’jaeden patted Illidan’s cheek to divert his attention. “Don’t worry about that. It’s just another part of your body growing.”

“Growing into what?” Illidan reached down and grabbed his toes, flexing them with some difficulty. The bones were beginning to fuse together, his muscles imbued with fel energy and hardening as the days went by.

“These.” Kil’jaeden gestured to his own hooves, which he’d played off as being a ‘sudden transformation’ thing after a meeting with Sargeras. “You’ll be blessed with the legs of our strongest warriors.”

“Whoa! Really?!” Illidan knocked on a hoof, inspecting it. “I bet I could kick down walls with legs like yours!”

“You will.” Kil’jaeden said simply. “But it might make it difficult for you to walk in the meantime. Would you like me to speed the process a little?”

“You can do that?” Illidan flapped his tiny wings with enthusiasm. “Why didn’t you tell me! Make my wings bigger!”

“Shhh, shh. One thing at a time. Lie down, Illidan.” The child obeyed, and Kil’jaeden wiggled his fingers around to get his energy flowing. “Right… It’ll hurt for twenty seconds. You’ll be strong for me, won’t you?”

“Yeah!” Illidan pursed his lips together and lay straight as a board with his arms pinned to his sides. He closed his eyes, scrunching up his face. Kil’jaeden concentrated deeply and began to empower Illidan’s transformation, energy surging into feet that lengthened, the skin peeling away from former toes. Illidan grit his teeth and whined, urging Kil’jaeden to work faster. Kil’jaeden made sure everything was proper and anatomically correct before sealing the energies within Illidan’s body and letting him heal.

“Done.” he said, placing a hand on Illidan’s chest. “Look.”

Illidan opened his teary eyes to see that his feet had become hooves just like Kil’jaedens, black and smooth where once he had ten little toes. There were no individual sensations left, just as if all his toes were stuck together and wrapped in a tight bone case. His lower leg bones had also shortened, feet extending to make him stand taller on his hooves.

“It… feels so weird…” Illidan whispered, rotating his ankles. “Oww!”

“You,” Kil’jaeden picked up the edge of the bedcovers and rolled them around Illidan “Are not going anywhere.” He tucked Illidan into a nice burrito, stroking back his hair. “You’re sweating. How much does it hurt?”

Illidan bit his bottom lip, shivering in his chest. _‘I don’t want to be weak.’_

“Tell me.”

“A… a lot… but I can handle it! I’m okay!” Illidan smiled unconvincingly, his milky white teeth sparkling. “I don’t wanna stay in bed all day.”

“You will have to, or your blood will turn into bone hurting juice.” said Kil’jaeden in a matter-of-fact tone. Illidan raised his brows – he didn’t have hair on his brow ridge but the muscles there made him look surprised nonetheless.

“B…BONE HURTING JUICE?!”

“Mhm. So listen to me and rest. I’ll bring you something to read.” Kil’jaeden slipped out of bed, ignoring Illidan’s protests. He could still hear the whining in his head as he went to the library to pick out something entertaining for Illidan to immerse himself in, and took a moment to stand still.

_‘I don’t care how he feels. It’s just more convenient – no, **efficient** for him to abstain from long term pain and boredom. No child has ever been fond of a guardian knowingly decreasing their quality of life.’_

_‘ **Do you hear yourself, Kil’jaeden?’**_

Kil’jaeden jumped, his wings flaring in alarm.

_‘Archimonde! What are you doing here?’_

_‘ **Checking what that influx of power so early in the morning was for. I cannot believe you’ve been… oh wait, I can.’**_ Archimonde’s inner voice dripped with sarcasm and malice. **_‘That’s just pathetic.’_**

‘ _What, easing and quickening his transformation into one of us isn’t efficient progress to your imp-sized brain? Begone.’_

Archimonde’s spluttering anger jabbed at Kil’jaeden’s emotional defenses. He prepared an indignant tirade but Kil’jaeden saw it coming – poor Archimonde was as predictable as ever – and closed their connection. He shook his head, tension crawling up his shoulders and neck.

“Rrgh.” Archimonde had grown increasingly aggressive in the past few months, and always had something to say about how Kil’jaeden was executing their Master’s task. _‘Why does he even care? Illidan has nothing to do with him. This is **my** duty, and I’m bloody well succeeding at it, too.’_ A moment of reflection came upon him. _‘I am rightfully proud of my own skill at executing Lord Sargeras’s will. It is not as if I take pride in the boy’s achievements… why, he achieves nothing at all! It is through **my** efforts that he can display superior intelligence and health.’_

The voice of Velen, as if Kil’jaeden’s conscience had chosen it as a megaphone, gently suggested something else.

_ ‘You do not really believe that, do you…? _ _’_

Kil’jaeden folded his arms, but knew himself well. _‘I do not.’_ He sighed. ‘ _I am what I believe. I cannot let myself grow attached to the Project Child…’_

_ ‘You raise him. You might as well have fathered him, for how kind you are when he tests your patience.’ _

_‘I am Kil’jaeden the fel-damned Deciever, not some adoptive parent to this… this… endearing little thing…’_ Sadness rather than anger overcame Kil’jaeden’s corrupted heart. _‘Why… do I feel so much? It is just work!’_

_ ‘It is love, and you know it.’ _

“…….!” Kil’jaeden fought the surge of emotion that came with the words in his head. _‘Enough! Enough of this! It is not right!’_ He forced clarity upon his mind and chose a few books that would keep Illidan occupied for at least a few hours. Then, he went to the kitchen and got something for them both to eat. Upon returning to his chambers he saw Illidan trying to unpick the tight blanket roll he was stuffed in. Illidan looked up and froze.

“Here.” Kil’jaeden put down a plate full of crisp imp limbs and felbat bacon drenched in fel sauce. “You haven’t eaten.”

“Ooh!” Illidan went straight for a piece of bacon with congealed green goop on it and practically inhaled it. “Mnn~”

“You can read some of these later.” Kil’jaeden set the books on the nearby stone nightstand. “I will be busy today.”

“Mmf?” Illidan questioned what his guardian would be up to, and Kil’jaeden averted his eyes.

“Work.”

Illidan’s forehead wrinkled just above his nose. He gulped. “You’re gonna leave me here alone?”

“Is there a problem?” asked Kil’jaeden, his gaze returning to settle on Illidan’s fel-splattered cheeks. “You have plenty to occupy yourself with.”

“But I’ll be looooonely.” Illidan drawled.

“Uh.” Kil’jaeden found himself at a loss for what to say there – he’d been so used to his own company and isolation for long periods of time that it made little sense for Illidan to need someone by his side permanently. “What do you mean?”  
Illidan thought hard, crunching on a fried leg. “I… I don’t wanna be by myself.”

“Nobody will hurt you in here.”

“But…!” Illidan’s huge, watery eyes struck Kil’jaeden with such sorrow that the Eredar found himself rooted to the ground.

 _‘Why can’t I… just… turn and leave him?’_ Logically, he knew Illidan would be alright if he was locked in here, and all dangerous artifacts were put out of sight. But he hadn’t imprisoned Illidan by force since his capture last year… and ruining the boy’s trust would jeopardize Sargeras’s plans.

“Ah. Shall I call someone to watch over you?”

Illidan looked skeptical. “Who? I don’t know anyone but you, K’jay.”

Kil’jaeden breathed in.

“And don’t say Archimonde!” Illidan snapped. “I don’t like him.”

“…….” Kil’jaeden took a step back. “I know someone.” He backpedaled out of the room and called for Galixus, the Dreadlord appearing before him a moment later. “Look after Illidan for the day.” He instructed. Galixus looked mildly concerned.

“Are you sure, Sir? I do not have much experience in-”

“Do it or I’ll pull your eyelids off.” Kil’jaeden muttered. He was in a hurry to escape and Galixus knew it – the Deciever usually crafted much more harrowing threats.

“At once.” Galixus bowed and went into Kil’jaeden’s chambers to see Illidan laying on his side, blanket roll destroyed, and fel trickling from the corners of his mouth. The Dreadlord blinked.

“Well, you’re settling in nicely.” he said. “Master Kil’jaeden has assigned me to watch you for the day.”

Illidan shoved the empty plate aside and crawled to where Galixus sat down at the edge of the bed.

“Why? Why won’t he stay here?”  
“He is very busy-”

“But he usually takes me with him to work!”  
“There are some things a little boy should not see,” said Galixus. Illidan snarled, incensed by the prospect of forbidden knowledge.

“I wanna see!”

“You should not, and will not until Master Kil’jaeden allows you.” Galixus said in a brusque manner. “Curiosity kills on Argus.”

“Weeeeh! I’ve looked at plenty of stuff, and I’m still alive!”  
“Because your father protects you!” The Dreadlord suddenly snapped, a terrible hiss to his voice. His jaw dropped the moment he realised what he’d said. “Ahm, I mean… your Master-”

“What’s that word?” Illidan had never heard it before, and the context didn’t give him many clues. His mind told him nothing more than _‘this is what Kil’jaeden is to you’._ Galixus’s green eyes rolled up and around as if he’d suddenly taken interest in something on the ceiling.

“I misspoke. Do forgive me, I am not accustomed to lengthy conversations.”  
Illidan didn’t believe him, and it showed on his face. “But you’re talking to me right now.”

“I do not often.”

“Well get used to it!” Illidan launched himself at Galixus, falling into the Dreadlord’s lap. “You are gonna take me outside.”

Galixus froze. _‘I haven’t been forbidden from it… but I feel Master Kil’jaeden wouldn’t appreciate this.’_ He tried to telepathically connect to the Eredar who was firmly closed to all contact, having locked himself in the library for a few hours of peace. Kil’jaeden was laying on his face atop the softest couch available, illusions dispelled and taut body aching from stress. His relationship with Archimonde had gone to shit, his feelings about Illidan were confusing, and he had so much planning to do for a future he couldn’t even see.

 _‘I could really use Velen’s sight in times like this…’_ He lost himself in his memories, while elsewhere Galixus and Illidan were sneaking out of the Palace. Illidan was mightily convincing, no thanks to the Deciever’s influence on him, and Galixus saw no immediate or long-term harm in letting the boy breathe a bit of fresh air for a bit…

Who should they meet in the Palace’s vast gardens but Lord Sargeras himself? The Dark Titan was admiring the work of his underlings throwing corpses into a large fountain, the most notable feature on the harshly landscaped ground. Frothing pits of fel and craters full of bones replaced grass and flowers atop solid black rock, dead just like everything that once was natural on Argus. The ‘gardens’ really just served as a dumping ground for all the casualties of daily life in the city below, where millions of screaming demons from all over the Twisting Nether coexisted in chaos. Today’s influx of bodies had resulted from a restaurant dispute between a Tombwatcher and a Gazer, neither willing to look away from the other yet both insisting it was the height of rudeness to stare for so long. They were giant floating eyeballs with the ability to shoot fire from their pupils. The entire place had gone up in flames.

“Gali, look!” Illidan tugged on his babysitter’s left ear. “It’s Lord Sargeras!”  
“It sure is.” Galixus didn’t mind the nickname too much and slowed his pace. “We should not bother him.”

“What are those guys doing?” One clawed finger pointed to the militant looking Terrorguards throwing bodies like ragdolls into the boiling fel fountain.

“Disposing of waste. They’re burned too badly to eat.”

“Not true,” said an incubus that had been reclining on a nearby black iron bench. “You can eat _anything_ if you put your mind to it.”

“Oh hush, Caranyxir. Don’t give this one any ideas.” Galixus covered Illidan’s eyes with one hand, and soon felt little teeth sinking into his flesh. He let the boy chew on him, sitting beside Caranyxir. “Haah…”

“Rough morning?” The incubus draped himself across Galixus’s lap, raising a finger to tickle Illidan’s stomach. “Lord K gave you his kid, eh?”

“Mhm. I was supposed to keep him in bed, but I suppose he has other ideas.”

“Nyeehee~” Illidan giggled, squirming around. His legs felt like jelly when he tried to stand on them, so he let Galixus hold him while he dodged Caranyxir’s touch.

“Aw, aren’t you precious?” Caranyxir’s laughter dripped from his pale lips. “No wonder Lord K likes you.”

“Whaaa? He likes me?” Illidan grabbed hold of the incubus’s slim hand and yanked it, making him sit up. Galixus resigned himself to the party on his thighs, mentally disconnecting from the present moment.

“Of course! He wouldn’t bother with anyone the way he’s looked after you. Usually, he’s all business and no pleasure. Boooo.” Caranyxir made a thumbs-down motion, collecting Illidan in his arms. “C’mere, let’s see what kind of demon _you_ are.”

The word for _demon_ in Eredun held the same meaning as _person_ in Illidan’s mind, but specifically _only people on Argus could be referred to thus._

“I’ve got wings, see?” Illidan proudly flexed his back muscles and his tiny wings flapped. “K’jay says the fel will make them grow bigger.”

“That’s right! Plenty of fel, and in a few years you’ll have a nice, big pair.” Caranyxir tittered like a tree full of birds that had eaten too much sugar. “Gweeheeheehee~”

“I got these, too!” Illidan showed off his hooves, and they were comically large as were most demonic features on young children. “But I can’t use them yet.”

“It takes time.” said Caranyxir, drawing the tip of his index finger along Illidan’s smooth jawline. “You’re so sweet… Make sure you stay safe, okay? I can’t have you getting hurt like _that_.” He gestured to a raggedy felhound that Sargeras kicked so hard its ribcage splintered into a thousand pieces. Illidan winced at the sight.

“Yeowch… what’s Lord Sargeras doing?”

Caranyxir shrugged. “Whatever he feels like, for no apparent reason. You don’t want to question him.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t like it.”

“Why?”

Caranyxir narrowed his black, pupilless eyes. “…Because your good friend _Kil’jaeden_ says so.”

“Oh!” Illidan nodded. “Okay.” He’d been taught via a seeping, carefully crafted belief that Kil’jaeden’s word was _law_ , not Lord Sargeras’s or even secondhand orders from high-ranking demons. “Did he tell you that?”

“He did.” Caranyxir lied. “He cares for you a lot.”

Galixus made a noise of warning, a low and annoyed groan. He didn’t want Caranyxir spilling too many beans about Kil’jaeden’s most obvious behavior. Everyone had seen him coddling the Project Child when he thought nobody was looking, or when he thought he was being inconspicuous.  It was as plain as the horns on his face – he protected Illidan differently than was appropriate for someone threatened by Sargeras. He did not go about quivering in fear, hypermanaging Illidan’s existence. Instead, he actually asked him about what he wanted on a daily basis and gave him physical affection that was neither required nor warranted (in Archimonde’s eyes, anyway). Whenever Kil’jaeden missed a council meeting, the topic of contention was always _what’s he up to with that little boy_? Mannoroth thought he was spoiling him. Tichondrius thought it was disgraceful. Highlord Kruul thought it was pointless to discuss, while the lesser members of the council loved to gossip about the kid’s latest antics while speculating about Kil’jaedens methods.

“He’s probably abusing him in private.” said Archimonde, confidently. “It’s preposterous to think our Deciever could let something so petty and weak as emotion interfere with his work. A task handed down from our glorious Master, nonetheless!”

“I think it’s cute.” said Iroxus, a Doomguard with no discernible features. “Kil’jaeden’s looked ever so sad since you-know-who left us…”

“You weren’t even alive then!” Archimonde slammed his fist down on the table, fel energy splintering from the point of impact. “What do you know?!”  
“Only what I see.” Iroxus twirled their hair around one clawed finger, looking through one of the many arched windows that decorated the room’s perimeter. “You seem agitated.”

“I am NOT!” Archimonde summoned a ball of fire with pieces of rock in it and hurled it towards the Doomguard’s head. Iroxus bent their head backwards and the projectile went out the window.

“Case in point.”

“RRREEAARRGGHHHH!” Archimonde stood abruptly, the muscles in his neck sticking out and face twisted into a nasty grimace. He flipped the table over in one swift motion and teleported out of the room, leaving the rest of the council to clean up.

Mannoroth and Tichondrius exhanged looks.

_‘That time of the month, eh…’_

It was not what you think! Archimonde and Kil’jaeden had an agreement between them that required meeting once a month, but for the entire time Illidan had been here, Kil’jaeden kept finding ways to squirm out of it.

 _‘ **You promised!** ’_ Archimonde thought in anger as he hunted for his comrade. ‘ ** _You bastard, we’re doing this NOW!’_**

Kil’jaeden was innocently wandering out of the library in his natural form when a searing presence engulfed the hallway. Tall and forbidding, Archimonde pointed an accusatory finger at him from the top of the stairs. A bleak sense of inescapable dread crept up Kil’jaeden’s neck, darkening his face.

 _‘What-‘_ The minute he opened his connection to Archimonde, he was hit with a wave of such powerful anger that it washed away most of his own lingering emotions. He struggled to keep them in check, sharing his friend’s mental burden, but the floodgates were open and he froze where he stood. Archimonde closed the distance between them within seconds, bodily dominating the entire hallway and forcing Kil’jaeden back. The red Eredar backed into the library and Archimonde followed, kicking the door shut behind him with a powerful hoof.

“A-Archimonde,” Kil’jaeden tried, his facial tendrils stiff as his brain entered panic mode. He trusted Archimonde always, he feared him now, it did not compute…!

 **“Silence!”** Archimonde’s deep, growling voice held all its arrogance in a roiling pit, words erupting from his chest. He was more for action than talk – it was why Sargeras sent him in to destroy planets and not negotiate with them. Both hands pinned Kil’jaeden to the wall by the muscles of his wings, almost cracking the bones with his unbearable force. His upper body pressed forth and his beating heart pounded faster as if expecting a fight. Kil’jaeden provided, scraping Archimonde’s pauldrons with his claws and tearing the leather straps away. Archimonde was topless otherwise, and his tail flicked aggressively from side to side as his armour clanked to the floor.

“Stop it…” Kil’jaeden spluttered, knowing Archimonde’s physical strength to be greater than his own and oh, he was _defenseless_ as his logical mind drowned in fear. “Archi, please.”

“Where’s your fucking tongue?” Archimonde spat as he bared his sharp teeth, coiling his tentacles up the sides of Kil’jaeden’s face. They were warm and had the same texture as his fingertips, save the callus of battle and eternal scars. “Got something to do, _Deciever?”_ He grinded up against Kil’jaeden, hooves digging into the carpet as desperate hands tried to push him away. But he only gripped those sensitive wings harder, until fel energy seeped from the cuts his fingernails inflicted.

“Ggghh!” Kil’jaeden snarled, brows turned up and breathing shallow. “I don’t have the time-”

“Then make it.” Archimonde squeezed, threatening to crush one of Kil’jaeden’s bones all the way through the marrow. Kil’jaeden’s nerves were on fire and yet he _still_ couldn’t think of the right things to say to make this all go away. Something hard was pressing directly into his crotch and on any other day a year ago, Kil’jaeden would have enjoyed it. But not today, not like this. He went to protest, an impulsive, desperate curse coming to mind, but Archimonde smashed his face into Kil’jaedens and swallowed his words in a kiss. Not a delicate, fluttery thing mind you, but a powerful, burning collision of flesh and teeth. Archimonde groaned, finally able to taste that which he had hungered for. He sucked and delved, lips and tongue violating Kil’jaeden while his tentacles curled menacingly around that crimson throat.

 _‘I am not my body,’_ thought Kil’jaeden. _‘And I am not my mind.’_ In his state of complete panic, he ascended beyond his corporeal form and watched Archimonde manhandle him. _‘He is… licking me.’_ This he noticed, and saw his knees hit the ground. Hooves splayed behind him, he crumpled to the floor. The shock brought him back into the present moment and Archimonde was whipping him with a line of felfire.

“Get up.”

Kil’jaeden wanted to say something. Wanted to insult him, to smack him, to shove him to the floor and pummel the arrogance from his face… but the muscles that would move his mouth were numb, and he was vaguely aware of his wings moving. They closed around his arms and wrapped him into a cocoon of sorts, bright green felblood dripping from the tips of his bones.

“I _will_ have you,” said Archimonde, continuing to whip him. “By the will of Sargeras, GET UP!!”

Kil’jaeden did not. He trembled, wings so tightly binding his arms across his chest that he was curling in on himself, and formed a reddish ball on the floor. Archimonde faltered. His desire had faded, seeing his brother in arms reduced to a quivering lump, entirely nonverbal.

“…….Grrraahh.” Archimonde teleported out, seeing he wasn’t going to get anything more out of this situation than pure frustration. Kil’jaeden was entirely closed off, mentally and physically, and Archimonde could not access a single of his benefits or flaws when he was like this. He’d never seen this before, _ever_. And it annoyed him.

**_‘I always get what I want.’_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make Kil'jaeden break down and cry from the cumulative stress but I figured it wouldn't be received well (god damn tho do I love writing whump) XD  
> also i know i didn't lead into KJ and Archi's relationship that much but ehh it didn't seem that relevant until now so BAZINGA


	8. Chapter 8

Kil’jaeden lay awake in bed as Illidan slept on his chest, thinking of a conversation two days prior.

 

~

 

“K’jay, will I grow a tail just like yours?” Illidan tried to catch Kil’jaeden’s tail as it wafted to and fro.

“I don’t think so.” said Kil’jaeden, watching Illidan’s hands as he really did not like being grabbed from behind. The boy made a sudden feint to one side and brought his other hand around to catch Kil’jaeden’s tail by the tip.

“Ahh, but whyyyyyy? I wanna be as strong as you, with really big wings and horns!”

“I suppose I have this tail because I’m close to Archimonde. I’m turning into an Eredar just like him.”

Where Illidan could have asked about his own proximity to Kil’jaeden and the transformative effects that followed, he instead latched onto the name he so despised hearing.

“Why are you close to Archimonde? He’s mean.”

“He just doesn’t know how to talk to people.” Kil’jaeden said patiently. “Please let go of my tail.”

 

~

 

Kil’jaeden could feel something hot trickling down the side of his face, and he refused to acknowledge it. But a tiny hand pressed against his cheek, Illidan having woken by the fel glow so near to his sensitive eyes.

“K’jay…” he said sleepily, fingers gently stroking Kil’jaeden’s face. “Why’re your eyes leaking?”

‘ _You are strong.’_   Kil’jaeden told himself. _‘You are strong. It’s okay.’_ But he felt ever so weak as his body betrayed him, and he brought a hand up to cover his face. He did not trust himself to speak. Illidan recognized pain when he saw it and tugged at Kil’jaeden’s hand.

“K’jay?”

“Mrrnnnghh…” Kil’jaeden made a noise that suggested he was half asleep, but Illidan wasn’t so easily fooled and continued to pinch him.

“K’jay, k’jay, wake up! There’s fel coming out of your face!”

Kil’jaeden slowly opened his eyes and gazed with sorrow into Illidan’s concerned face.

“You’re so pure…” he muttered, cupping Illidan’s cheek. “Oh, Illidan.”

“Nnn?” Illidan tilted his head to the side, able to see in the dark just like Kil’jaeden. “What… what’s wrong? You look really sad…”

The more compassion Illidan bestowed upon his guardian, the tighter Kil’jaeden’s chest squeezed inwards until he felt it would collapse from the strain. Forcing himself to keep his composure, he spoke.

“I am well. Go to sleep.”

“That’s a lie!” Illidan sounded aghast. “You don’t look well at all!” More fel was bubbling over Kil’jaeden’s eyelids and sizzling down his face. There was a hole in his pillow now as the acidic substance burned away the cloth. Illidan had no idea what to do, Kil’jaeden having always been a stern bulwark of unwavering strength. Now he was losing his power, it seemed, through his eyes. “Uwaaaa…!” Illidan threw his arms around Kil’jaeden’s neck, pressing his face right up beneath the eredar’s chin. It was like a cave in here, with those four thick tendrils guarding the way. Nuzzling and meeping, Illidan hugged Kil’jaeden as tightly as he could. Kil’jaeden sniffed.

_‘Such… a pure… little thing…’_

 

Come morning, Kil’jaeden was summoned by Sargeras to the throne room. Illidan insisted on accompanying him, walking by his side on wobbly hooves and holding Kil’jaeden’s hand. The Deciever had little choice but to let Illidan exert himself, thinking it would be good for him to stretch his muscles and grow accustomed to walking on his former toes. Kil’jaeden wandered into the throneroom and nearly turned to leave immediately. Archimonde stood to the left of Sargeras, who was seated and beckoned with one finger for Kil’jaeden to approach. In his illusory, mostly eredar but still night elven body, Kil’jaeden did not feel his usual confidence as he strode in. Illidan tottered after him, glaring at Archimonde who gave him a death scowl back.

“Kil’jaeden.” Sargeras greeted in his rumbling, titanic voice. “I hear you and Archimonde fought yesterday.”

Kil’jaeden dared to stop Sargeras’s words by speaking hastily. “May we discuss this without Illidan present? He does not need to hear of my loss of composure.”

Illidan didn’t understand that last word, and thought hard but found no direct translation at all.

“What did you lose?” Illidan asked, innocently looking up at Kil’jaeden. “Where did you put your composer?”

Kil’jaeden’s sinking heart was buoyed temporarily, and Sargeras felt it. The Dark Titan raised an eyebrow and Kil’jaeden _knew_ he was clued in.

_‘Crap.’_

_-I KNOW YOUR HEART, DECEIVER. I KNOW YOUR SOUL. YOU BELONG TO ME.-_

_‘Yes, Master. Of course.’_

“Illidan…” Kil’jaeden bent to speak to the boy quietly. “You must go upstairs and wait in my chambers, okay?” A request, not a demand.

“How come?” Illidan could sense something wasn’t quite right. “What’s going to happen?”

“Very boring work.” Kil’jaeden lied. “You must go and continue your studies without me, for I will not be able to assist you today.”

“You… you’re gonna be busy…” Illidan didn’t seem too happy, and neither did Sargeras who cleared his throat. Nobody ignored _him_!

“Yes.” Kil’jaeden abruptly ignored Sargeras’s mental pull and caressed Illidan’s soft black hair. “Go quickly.”

Illidan obeyed of his own accord, and Kil’jaeden didn’t even have to influence his mind one bit. His work was paying off… but as usual, Sargeras just had to nitpick. He turned to his Master and bowed.

“What do you need?”

“My beloved General is not happy.” Sargeras crooked his left index finger and Archimonde slipped into his lap, sitting on the armored legs of the mightiest being on Argus. “He says you have broken an agreement?” He played coy, but everyone knew what Archimonde and Kil’jaeden got up to on a monthly basis. Or rather, what they used to…

Kil’jaeden gave a derisive snort within the confines of his own mind. _‘Pah, you don’t even feel love, you nihilistic bastard. Oh, I hope he didn’t hear that…’_

**_‘I did. And I am going to tell him if you don’t play nice.’_ **

_‘Oh, for fuck’s sake…!’_

Kil’jaeden was having trouble keeping his emotions and thoughts stable, and worried about this in an endless cycle of nerves. Sargeras picked up on it at once.

“Why do you keep your mind shut, Deceiver? Are you hiding something from us?”

“No,” said Kil’jaeden. “I am not here to banter, my Lord. What do you need from me?”

“You are here to do as I please,” said Sargeras in a most authoritative tone. Kil’jaeden actually stood a little straighter unconsciously. “And what I please is keeping Archimonde happy. Just look at how stressed he is.”

Archimonde dispelled his own illusion and revealed himself to be butt naked. Cuddled up against Sargeras with his ass sideways in the Dark Titan’s lap, he raised his tail and waved it at Kil’jaeden. Unmistakable eredar pheromones delivered a message to Kil’jaeden – Archimonde was here to fuck bitches and get riches, and he already had plenty of the latter.

_‘Shit. Shit. I knew it. Of course he’d pull something like this.’_

“Why don’t you come over here, Kil’jaeden?” Sargeras wore a malicious smirk that spanned galaxies at the look of discomfort on Kil’jaeden’s face. “And do away with that silly illusion of yours.” He waved his hand and forced Kil’jaeden’s illusion into nothingness, revealing the tall and proud figure of his right hand man. “There’s a good boy. Clothes off.”

Kil’jaeden hesitated for two seconds, eyes wide and brain frozen. He wondered if he was going senile after over fifteen thousand years. A finger unpicked the clasps of his robes, going from his collar down. Sargeras’s lecherous gaze followed until Kil’jaeden was completely nude, wings quivering as if chilled.

- _FEAR IS WEAKNESS. WEAKNESS MUST DIE.-_

_‘Yes, Master.’_

“Come.”

And Kil’jaeden did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut scene is here -> archiveofourown.org/works/11428563


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kil'jaeden and Illidan go out, to the city of Mac'Aree! :D

Kil’jaeden struggled to keep his illusion solid as he staggered upstairs, heading for his chambers. Illidan was sitting on the bed waiting for him, and noticed his haggard look at once.

“K’jay!” Illidan got up and promptly fell over, hooves unable to keep him standing on the soft bed. “Gwah!”

“Yes, I am here.” Kil’jaeden said, his voice stilted. “Find yourself something to wear, Illidan. We will go for a walk soon.”

“Yay!” Glad that his guardian was done with work for the day, Illidan tumbled off the bed, flapping his wings. _‘I’ll make him smile for sure!’_

Kil’jaeden went into the ensuite and locked the door with a spell. His illusion fell away, really just disguising his skin colour and tendrils at this point, and he turned on the faucet. Fel goop surged into his deep, rectangular bath and poured down from a second pipe jutting out of the ceiling. It cycled so that Kil’jaeden could relax and never worry about the fel overflowing, and he climbed in, tilting his head back. His horns contacted the stone that he always used as a headrest, and pain prickled around his skull at the base of his horns. It reminded him immediately of what Sargeras had done, and then Archimonde, and Kil’jaeden gave a shuddering gasp as he sat up. Fel oozed from above down onto his head and dripped all over him, comforting and hot.

 _‘It is fine.’_ he told himself. _‘Cleanse yourself in felfire. Do not think.’_ His mental barriers were erected subconsciously, his mind needing to keep itself secure from further intrusion. He couldn’t handle any more screaming voices in his head, Sargeras’s orders and whims, Archimonde’s desires and demands, what seemed to be Velen as his conscience telling him absolute truths… It was too much, even for one with his supreme intelligence. Kil’jaeden unwound his tight nerves, massaging his temples with two fingers on each side. He had a terrible headache that felt like a million tiny imps were doing laps of his skull, claws scratching his brain tissue.

“G’uh…” Uttering a sigh of relief, he sank deeper into the bath. His skin was burning pleasantly now, returning to its natural state as the fel rejuvenated his sore muscles. It was the best anti-aging cream anyone could ask for. Fifteen minutes passed, and there was a knock at the door.

“K’jay? What are you doing in there?”

“Oh… Illidan.” Kil’jaeden muttered under his breath, hauling himself up out of the bath. “I will be with you shortly.”

“Nyeehh.” Illidan tapped his fingers against the door.

“Patience…” Straining, Kil’jaeden stood properly and shook his wings dry. He took the fel into his veins, enjoying how it seeped into his skin, and magicked up his illusion before opening the door. The illusion came with clothes, as Kil’jaeden was going to put some actual garments on once he appeased Illidan’s curiosity. The child looked up and hugged Kil’jaeden’s thick legs.

“I’m ready~ Let’s go!” Illidan had chosen some dark red leggings with slits near the ankles, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“No shirt?” Kil’jaeden asked, making his way to the walk-in wardrobe near the foot of the bed.

“Can’t find one.” Illidan clung to Kil’jaeden’s leg. “I can’t get my wings in anything.”

“I will help you.” Kil’jaeden took a black tunic with swirly green embroidery around the collar and showed Illidan the back of it. “Arms up.”

Illidan obeyed, and Kil’jaeden slipped the tunic over his head. The back had clasps that were open, and the fabric came together around the base of Illidan’s wings. It took a bit of practice to adjust alone, so Kil’jaeden understood Illidan’s frustration with the task. “There you go.” He patted down the fabric and Illidan seemed to enjoy the feeling of being fussed over. He beamed up at Kil’jaeden.

“Ehe~”

“Now, then. I… think I’ll wear this.” Kil’jaeden picked a long black robe with a silver belt that had little bone adornments around it. Illidan watched him fasten the clasps with a few deft hand movements and was quite impressed.

“Where are we going?” Illidan asked, holding Kil’jaeden’s hand as he always did when not being carried.

“As far as we can.” Kil’jaeden made a snap decision to venture out towards the edges of the city of Mac’Aree, which was a walk he knew Illidan wouldn’t last very long on. The roads were heavily trafficked by the demons that couldn’t fly, and fel energy seeped out of every pothole and crack. Mac’Aree had once been a city of sparkling arcane perfection, and now was a militant, chaotic and violent collection of Sargeras’s destructive impulses. Unnecessarily huge swords were permanently stuck in buildings to make them look more imposing, ever reminiscent of the Dark Titan’s might. Rivers of fel coursed along seething banks where liquid energy met unforgiving rock. Imp mothers expanded their brood in caves beneath mountains that encroached upon the city, jagged peaks encircled by tiny meteors. Lavish descriptions aside, Argus was a densely populated planet with absolutely no natural life that wasn’t fueled by the fel. Fel created life on its own. It morphed, infused, corrupted and twisted. It let things move that should have never been able to, like skeletal rats and stone-born elementals. It could even give hunks of meat sentience… but that was a story for another day.

Illidan walked alongside Kil’jaeden, skipping past large rocks that the eredar simply stepped over. His wings flapped with delight, bright eyes roving to distant structures and the colourful atmosphere. Kil’jaeden pointed out the different species of demons flying above, making a little lesson out of their journey. Illidan listened intently, waving to the many beings who paid attention to him. Kil’jaeden certainly turned heads, as did the night elf who looked more demonic than elven with his hooves, baby horns and wings. Kil’jaeden was recognized by his unique, powerful presence and nobody questioned out loud why he was wearing a weak-looking illusion. Just a few more years, and Kil’jaeden would be able to assume his natural form, having ‘transformed’ bit by bit in Illidan’s eyes. It was just another part of growing up, something they did together.

_‘I do not want him to feel alone.’_

They had been walking for ten minutes down the pathway from the Palace, which had been carved out of a mountain. The slope grew steeper as they neared Mac’Aree, and Illidan pointed at a particularly tall spire. It stabbed the sky, black and tapering.

“What’s that for?”  
“Decoration.” Kil’jaeden said. “That’s the top of the Grand Archive.”

“Let’s go see!” Illidan tugged Kil’jaeden along.

“We can observe from outside. The documents inside are being relocated to another planet.” Holding Illidan’s hand a little tighter, Kil’jaeden glanced down at him. “Are you sure you can walk that far?”

Illidan’s thigh muscles burned, but he didn’t even care. “Of course I can!”

Kil’jaeden could not help but smile at the child’s tenacity. “Very well, then. Lead the way.”

“Ehehe~! I’ll make sure we get there safely!” Illidan was just barely tall enough to drag Kil’jaeden comfortably by the hand, but did so with all the heart of a novice tour guide. They attracted even more stares, the big and imposing eredar tactician being lead around by a tiny half-demon. Illidan was in fact the equivalent of a baby on Argus, as children were not born and beings were simply _spawned_ at adult size. Size was directly proportional to power. Such a thing as developing over time was almost unheard of – everything was explosive and instantaneous. But Kil’jaeden liked to take things slow when executing his schemes, deciding first and working later. As he followed, a thought came to his mind.

 _‘Is he… behaving like me? He said something about safety… and he almost seems responsible. But children are meant to be selfish at this age. Perhaps he is simply imitating my actions, nothing more.’_ Kil’jaeden had never studied how the minds of children developed intricately enough to understand this. And as usual, he pursued knowledge of _everything_.

“Safely, mm…? You never know what might happen down here.” The biggest demons around walked with pride, while the lesser ones like imps and felhounds crawled in the shadows out of sight. “The stronger you are, the safer you’ll be.” Kil’jaeden recited his impromptu doctrine to drill it into Illidan’s memory.

“I’m strong just like K’jay!” chirped Illidan, doing a little twirl and hovering in the air on feeble wings. “Weeew! Look there, it’s the Grand Archive! I’m the best pathfinder ever!” He pointed to the front of a thin, tall building with black discs running down the sides bordered by fel green lines. Energy flowed from the base of the tower all the way to its menacing spire. Two armored Felguards stood by either side of the entryway, which happened to be a rectangular portal that showed nothing of the Archive’s inner workings. It was simply something to walk in and teleport out somewhere else. Documents, folders and stacks of books were being thrown through the portal from the inside by the workers relocating the ancient knowledge. The Felguards saluted Kil’jaeden upon noticing his arrival.

“Report.” said Kil’jaeden, slipping instantly into military mode.

“Seventy-five percent of the Archive’s information is secure on Nathreza, Sir!” barked the Felguard on the right. The one opposite him grunted an affirmative sound. Illidan gazed with infinite curiosity at the two muscular demons. Before Kil’jaeden could say anything, Illidan crawled up the side of his leg and got to eye level with both soldiers.

“Carry on!” Illidan said in his most commanding voice, which was more high and sweet than anything. Kil’jaeden melted inside, wondering where the boy had seen him giving orders like that. The Felguards stared straight ahead, fists to chests out of respect. If this kid could climb over Kil’jaeden the Deceiver, he had to have some legit authority indeed.

The city was arranged in a grid with everything tightly packed together to fit as many buildings as possible into what space was habitable. The Archive was sandwiched between a lifeless grey slab of rock with a single barred door on it and a store that traded crystals for meat. Illidan took notice of the many signs and advertisements, reading everything his eyes fell upon. He jumped off Kil’jaeden and started to wander, his guardian allowing his curiosity to flourish but still keeping him on a tight mental leash. If he strayed too far or nipped out of sight, his brain would slow its signals to his muscles until Kil’jaeden permitted otherwise. There was no such thing as _too_ protective in a city of demons, where a lack of violence made news and an excess was celebrated. Kil’jaeden’s muscular wings fanned in and out gently as he walked behind Illidan, lost in thought. He took a moment to buy a cup of fel from the nearest vendor, intimidating the aproned wyrmtongue with consistent eye contact. He sipped, the steaming beverage warming him inside. Illidan had his face turned to the sky and soon tried to fly, but couldn’t manage to lift himself more than a meter off the ground. He just didn’t have the endurance or muscle for it.

“K’jay! What’s up there?” He could see many demons flying around in lines, as if there were invisible pathways they followed while moving at high speed to avoid collision.

“Just another layer of buildings. We should probably be up there, flying with the others.” Kil’jaeden replied. Argussian society had its own complex rules despite being a chaotic place by nature, regulations having developed over time so the world didn’t tear itself apart. There was a caste system denoting who traveled where, and no walkways among the upper buildings that the flightless could make use of. The services provided in Upper Mac’Aree catered to Dreadlords, Ered’ruin and anyone else with a pair of wings, having a focus on convenience and efficiency. Everything was polished and clean, imps scrubbing at windows through which the administrative workers could gaze. Higher up in the sky, diligent Overfiends flapped about barking orders and directing traffic. At ground level, Wrathguards marched on smooth footpaths while Annihilan made use of the wide roads. A few succubi hurried past Kil’jaeden, their broken wings leaving a trail of blood behind them. Mac’Aree had one place where the wounded went to heal, and that was The Pit. A giant hole in the center of town where fel energy restored minor wounds and devoured major ones. Flesh and bone dissolved into energy that would help others to fight another day. Everything was conserved and recycled despite looking like sheer destruction.

Illidan strained to flap his wings, and Kil’jaeden picked him up.

“Careful, you’ll hurt yourself like that.” Kil’jaeden noticed a few flightless demons glaring, and he strode past them into a desolate alley. “You shouldn’t take flight in the streets. It is insensitive to those without wings.” Kil’jaeden truly did not care for the feelings of the general populace, but he was a leader, not a disturber of the peace. Mac’Aree did _not_ need a civil war, hell, Sargeras already received enough complaints from the lower castes (and promptly ignored them). The last thing anyone needed was Kil’jaeden flaunting his power and beauty before those who envied it to death. Illidan shifted, seating himself on Kil’jaeden’s shoulders. With his hands around Illidan’s hooves to keep him secure, Kil’jaeden spread his wings. In three swift flaps he was up in the air, and soared to the upper city.

“Whooooaaa…” Illidan could almost hear uplifting orchestral music as wondrous cinematic grade sights came into view. Neon-fel signs spelled out places for hairdressing, horn sculpting and claw trimming while armor suits gleamed in windows, enticing the Legion’s higher ranked military officers. Kil’jaeden lingered by a shopfront that had _Eredar Elite_ written in gold on a black marble slate at his eye level. There were some nice tentacle rings in there that he thought would suit him. But he wasn’t here to shop, he was simply showing Illidan around. As they were above the traffic, they avoided strange looks as everyone was going about their own business down below. Suited Doomguards zoomed to work after their lunch breaks, and Succubi did backflips at intersection corners to try and score some meaty lads.

“Waoooow!” Illidan gripped on to the sides of Kil’jaeden’s head, thrilled at the whooshing air currents made by thousands of demonic wings. “It’s so different up here!”

“Indeed.” It was less oppressive than the drudgery of the streets down below, where old bloodstains and fel crumbs littered the ground. Up here, Illidan felt a sense of purpose, as if he just _had_ to do something.

“Let’s go in there!” He pointed straight at a store with two gleaming swords crossed in the front window.

“All right.” Kil’jaeden peeled Illidan off his back, carried him in his arms and walked into the store. It was much larger on the inside than it seemed at first glance – rows and rows of weapons extended up along the walls several meters towards the high ceiling. A few demons hovered about, browsing.

“Well, if it ain’t Lord Kil’jaeden himself!” The dreadlord at the register sauntered over on gilded hooves, swaying his hips. “What can I get for you?”

“Nothing.” said Kil’jaeden, a moment before Illidan hopped out of his arms and stood on the counter.

“I want a sword!”

The dreadlord, who was named Arnazzir, grinned. “A sword, is that right? Tell me, do you know how to use one?”

“Yeah! Like this!” Illidan made a swishing motion, imitating the sparring Doomguards outside the Palace he’d seen a few weeks ago. Kil’jaeden shook his head.

“You have not taken a single lesson in combat, and already you want to wreak havoc.”

“A healthy appetite for battle is always good.” said Arnazzir, leaning back against the counter. Illidan admired his muscular form and polished gold armour. “Have you considered sending him to the training camps?”

“I consider all things.” Kil’jaeden replied. “But I shall teach him myself. Lord Sargeras will have my head if he gets injured in training.”

“Hm, hm. You will not have Lord Archimonde instruct him? You know how deft he is with a blade.” Arnazzir’s bright green eyes shone in crescent moon shapes as he smiled. “How is he doing, anyway?”

“Well enough.” Kil’jaeden said stiffly. His wings folded a little closer to his back, tail curling inwards. “Agitated as of late with nothing to fight.”

“Seems like we could all use a new conquest.” Arnazzir gestured up to the demons picking out weapons from the wall mounted racks. “I’ve been seeing many new customers lately. Apparently traces of delicious magic have been found on a distant planet, somewhere near…” he made a flippant hand motion, referring to the vast and unchartable expanse of the Twisting Nether. Kil’jaeden snorted.  
“Conjecture. Where did you hear that?”

“Read it in the Flaming Fortnightly just yesterday. It’s got to be true, they’ve just had five journalists hanged for fake news.”

Illidan started to wander off as the two demons conversed, reaching out to feel the blade of an axe thrice his height. When he touched it, a cold voice dripped into his ears and warned him of immeasurable anguish.

“Ooooh…”

Kil’jaeden frowned at the dreadlord, small black spikes poking out of his brow ridge in reflection of his true form.

“Nobody was supposed to know about this conquest at such an early stage.”

“Seems like you have a leak, then.” Arnazzir shrugged his massive purple wings. “Need an Inquisitor? I know a guy. Breaks minds in _minutes_.”

Kil’jaeden waved his hand dismissively, eyes closed. “No, no. Don’t you concern yourself with such matters – the Duumvirate has everything under control. I’m sure some minor planetoid will fall into our sights soon enough so the populace doesn’t grow too restless.”

Arnazzir’s eyes lit up, his fangs showing as he grinned. “Oh! I do so hope there are plenty of new races to exterminate. I haven’t cooked up a good plague in years!”

“I know the feeling.” Kil’jaeden did not, being less of a genocidal maniac than Archimonde. There was no harm in a white lie for comeraderie’s sake, though. He looked around and spotted Illidan whispering to a skull with green fire pouring out of its eyes. “HEY!”

Illidan jumped up, dropping the skull. “Waah!”  
“Don’t touch anything! If you cut yourself on something, it becomes tainted merchandise!”

“Oh, let him live a little.” Arnazzir crooned. “He’s such a sweet little thing, all bright-eyed and murderous.” Kil’jaeden seemed to have taught him well, in the dreadlord’s opinion. Races from other planets were often assimilated into the Legion by means of fear or slavery, not of their own accord. It took years of propaganda and corruption to turn the vast majority of new recruits. And here was a creature halfway to his full demonic form already seeking out a weapon! “I have some training swords that look quite legitimate if you would like one.” He said to Kil’jaeden, who had scooped up Illidan and was checking him for cuts.

“Bring a selection.” Kil’jaeden said absently, his focus on Illidan who had no injuries at all. “Hm… now who taught you to play with sharp objects?”

Illidan looked guilty. “Just felt like it.”

“I will teach you how to use a sword, little one. It’s about time you learned how to fight.”

“Awesome!”

 

They went home via portal that day with two long, curved swords that fit Illidan’s hands perfectly, yet weren’t sharp enough to cut through flesh. They could kill if swung hard enough, but Kil’jaeden didn’t think Illidan would try. He didn’t seem to have the bloodlust all the Legion’s strongest soldiers did, and Kil’jaeden was secretly glad. He’d heard tales of violent children ripping their parents to shreds, and shuddered.

 _‘Oh. I am his parent now, I suppose.’_ The thought made him smile, an expression Sargeras wiped off his face in seconds when the Dark Titan appeared from around a corner. The shadows nearby crept up Kil’jaeden’s legs and tugged at Illidan, who saw Sargeras up close and yelped.

“Deceiver.” Sargeras folded his massive arms. “You will not train Illidan in combat.”  
Kil’jaeden’s heart felt as stone in his chest, his muscles trying to squeeze the blood out of it. He said nothing.

“He should learn the same techniques as the Wrathguard elite at the School of Slaughter.”

“Master.” Kil’jaeden hugged Illidan closer to his chest without knowing, something Sargeras picked up on. “I don’t think-”

“You are too soft on him.” Sargeras spat, distaste warping his monstrous features. Illidan whimpered, burying his face in Kil’jaeden’s neck. “Watch how he clings to you!”

“He simply fears your might.” Kil’jaeden said. “Illidan will not be socially fit for the training you recommend.”

“I do not recommend, Deceiver.” Sargeras growled. “I command.”

“…It shall be done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit I love worldbuilding


	10. Chapter 10

A week later, Kil’jaeden started his day with a hot cup of fel and some new reading material. He’d ordered the latest issue of his favourite magazine to be delivered as soon as possible, and thanks to the Legion’s ruthless efficiency it was in his hands at dawn. He relaxed in his own private sitting room, having let Illidan go and eat breakfast downstairs. Bursts of yellow and green light flared outside the window he faced, bothering his eyes somewhat. According to the holographic orb that served as a radio on the endtable beside him, today’s forecast was _sooty with a light brimstone hail_. That meant elevated temperatures outside and Kil’jaeden was having none of it. He squinted, flicking through the pages of [Scorched, issue 8](http://68.media.tumblr.com/18f17e247e79017005193622c15136ee/tumblr_inline_osgabqwwzI1s9723c_500.png) _._ The front cover had an imposing picture of Archimonde on it that he preferred not to look at, those hungry eyes seeming to penetrate his soul.

 _‘Page six… let’s see here…’_ The headline on this page caught Kil’jaeden’s attention at once.

 ** _‘Deciever’s Downfall! Has Lord Kil’jaeden let himself go?’_** It stood out in angry green letters against the black background of paper that was once skin. Taking up the entire page opposite the article was an image of Kil’jaeden standing outside the Grand Archive, the dirty lower streets of Mac’Aree behind him. He looked terribly haggard, his posture one of exhaustion and his hair a long, silvery grey. The Legion’s cameras did not capture illusions – they recorded the truest form a demon owned. Kil’jaeden winced. He had been _slouching_ in public, and his robes crinkled around his waist in a most unflattering manner. His wings lacked the proud height and menace they usually commanded, and his facial tendrils hung from his face like dead snakes. Kil’jaeden dreaded reading the article even as his eyes soaked in the words.

_Once proud and glorious, now walking amongst mere filth! Lord Kil’jaeden the Deceiver was seen last week inspecting the works at the Grand Archive, where our histories of conquest and annihilation were once kept. Mac’Aree is on fire with rumours as to why our esteemed Lord seems to be in such poor condition, many attributing it to the most recent task the Master has given him. Little is known about the night elf child, other than it’s not for eating so stop asking, readers! Toting around such a fragile creature must be punishment of some sort, and it shows! Lord Kil’jaeden’s beautiful black hair has faded to the colour of mist, making him age a few thousand years. He’s also lost some muscle tone compared to when we last saw him at the Coliseum four years ago – with no new worlds to burn, he’s been sitting at home ripping into a nice felhound steak and playing with the succubi. We wish we could have such luxury!_

Kil’jaeden’s hands began to shake. He knew exactly what was being implied without being written as outright blasphemy.

_Here’s a shot we captured of the Deceiver sneaking into an alley. What’s he up to? Sources say he had met with a shadowy being, perhaps one of those void creatures the Master hates so much! Will Lord Kil’jaeden betray us all? His history with the cursed fiend Velen of the old Triumverate comes to mind, and we think he might have made contact with him on another world. Abandonment! Despair! Oh, the demonity!_

The magazine turned to ash in Kil’jaeden’s twitching fingers. He raised his palms, staring down at the crimson flesh and black claws. With a groan, he pushed his face into his hands. Outrage and desolation surged through his mind, churning up old memories of how lovely and simple it had been when Velen had still been there to guide him. He was independent and capable, yes, but felt like half an eredar without Velen by his side.

 _‘I can’t live like this.’_ he thought to himself, in a much weaker voice than his conscience usually spoke with. _‘I can’t.’_

 _‘ You must,’_ came the voice of Velen, ever patient but firm. _‘ For Illidan.’_

 _‘Illidan…’_ Kil’jaeden’s shoulders shook, wings trembling. _‘He is… katethi… to me.’_ Everything. His whole world revolved around the child and every time he admit it, his mental barriers tried to climb up on limbs of denial and duty. _‘What does Sargeras plan to do with him? Not knowing… it eats at my soul! Gahh! Madness… You do not need to know, all you must do is serve.’_

‘I don’t want to serve.’ said a tiny voice in Kil’jaeden’s head. ‘I want to learn and become greater, and help my people.’

_‘My people are dead.’_

_ ‘Our people are not.’ _

“Be silent!” Kil’jaeden smacked the sides of his head, digging the heels of his palms into his forehead plates. It was usually enough to recalibrate any eredar’s brain but it simply hurt Kil’jaeden, who grit his teeth. “Graaahh…”

“Trouble in paradise, brother?” Archimonde knocked on the doorframe, leaning on it with a shit-eating grin on his face. Kil’jaeden slammed his fist down on the endtable, cracking it in half.

“Now is NOT the time!”

Archimonde raised his brows, along with two hands in mock deference. “My, my. Someone’s sensitive.” He strode into the room, beautiful and commanding. “Here.” In one hand was a sandwich that had materialized out of nowhere. “You’ve been sulking for hours.”

Kil’jaeden gave him an inscrutable look, anger flushing his cheeks dark. Unwilling to reveal anything of his emotional state to Archimonde, he closed his mind. Archimonde probed at first, questioning and confused, then tried to pry open the connection they once shared so freely.

“Come now…” Archimonde set the sandwich on the armrest of the couch, frighteningly close to Kil’jaeden. “Don’t be like that.”

Kil’jaeden suddenly shot up, wings spread like the frills on an aggressive gecko. He hissed, showing his fangs to Archimonde.

The grey eredar chuckled. “Is that what you want, then? Fresh meat?” He began to unpick the straps of his pauldrons, tail swishing with excitement. “Mmmm…”

Kil’jaeden struck him across the face, right at the sensitive base of a tentacle. Archimonde screeched, reeling back with both arms closing into a fighting stance.

“What the FUCK was that for?!”

“I’ll incinerate you, cretin!” Kil’jaeden’s fingers crackled with felflame, eyes burning bright. Hatred, longing and a little fear bubbled in his chest, sparked by an overwhelming helplessness that came from serving Sargeras. He ached for the life he once lived. And it was gone forever. “Hyeeeaaargh!”

Archimonde narrowly dodged the beam of raw energy that went straight for his chest, flipping to the side and rolling into a low crouch. He grinned madly, lusting for battle already.

“That’s how I like it.” Archimonde growled, his pauldrons falling to the ground and revealing his thick muscles. “Get angry for me, Kil’jaeden. Show me who you are.”

“DEATH RAINS UPON YOU!” The ceiling rippled with orange swirling portals through which the brimstone hail from outside was being redirected… right into the sitting room.

“Ow! Ow, shit!” Archimonde’s skin burned in far too many places to count, tiny flaming hailstones driving deep into his muscles. The sensation of being pelted so hard disoriented him, and before he could counterspell anything his face was engulfed in flame. “YIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEE!!”

Kil’jaeden blinked. He was still sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, hallucinating. Alone.

_‘…………………’_

He could no longer trust his mind.


	11. Chapter 11

Kil’jaeden was reading to Illidan that night in bed, mind completely focussed on the words detailing beginner swordsmanship. He grew distracted as something tickled him, then did it again. He no longer wore his illusion, too tired to keep it up. And Illidan was having a field day with Kil’jaeden’s handsome face.

“Illidan, are you paying attention?” Kil’jaeden paused halfway through a sentence. Illidan was playing with a single tentacle, oblivious that it had double the nerve endings of anywhere else on Kil’jaeden’s body.

“Myeeeah~” Illidan made a sound like a sleepy cat. “About the grip on the hilt n’ stuff.” He tugged at the tentacle, causing Kil’jaeden’s breath to hitch. What a funny reaction! He did it again, and the majestic eredar _squeaked._ “Heeheehee!”

“Stop that.” There was no real heat to Kil’jaeden’s voice. “It hurts.”

“Ah!” Illidan shifted from being curled up by Kil’jaeden’s side and gazed at his guardian’s face. “Sorry…” He petted the tendrils gently.

Kil’jaeden sighed. He set the book aside, pulling up the bedcovers around himself and Illidan.

“I can see that you are more interested in me than your studies.”

“Nnh.” Illidan just couldn’t help himself sometimes, the tentacles, wings and tails of the demons around more novel than his own body parts.

“You should look but not touch.” Kil’jaeden cuddled Illidan close, his warm chest offering a comfortable heat. “Tomorrow, we can go out and watch people if you like.”

“Oooh…” Illidan thought about it and figured that with his beloved K’jay by his side, he could learn about the big scary world without risking his own life. “We’re gonna go on an adventure?”

“Mhm.” Kil’jaeden was already thinking about where they could sit and stare, while remaining unseen for the most part. _‘I won’t have any reporters take photos of me when I’m not looking. We shall use a field of displacement and hope there are no camera-eyed fools looking in my direction.’_ He turned on his side, adjusting both wings to fold up around his body. Illidan was protected by this, and soon began to fall asleep in Kil’jaeden’s embrace. He had been integrated into life on Argus so well that snoozing with this massive winged, hoofed and horned creature was simply a fact of life. A familiar comfort. Sleep would not come to him unless Kil’jaeden held him, something the demon was glad to do. Illidan’s warm little body was soothing to hug close to Kil’jaeden’s chest, and his existence gave the Deceiver _purpose_. Not simply the duty Sargeras had assigned him – but something stable to cling to, manipulate and _love_ while he was going through one hell of a crisis. Disillusioned with the Dark Titan and with no-one to turn to, Kil’jaeden teetered on the brink of despair, Illidan his only grounding element. But for now, he was okay. _They_ were okay, together. And they slept.

 

~

 

It was a fine hot morning when Kil’jaeden awoke, bright and early with plans for the day. First, he peeped into a sleeping Illidan’s mind to see if he was ready for a bit more knowledge. The child knew the most basic of social norms present in demonic civilization, and could speak fluent Eredun. There was still, however, room for more. Kil’jaeden cooked up a fel porridge of sorts with a smooth texture and high temperature, crafted to open Illidan’s mind. Of course, upon tasting it Illidan burned his tongue and got WOKE like never before.

“Yeowww!” Illidan dropped the bowl into his lap, curling his little wings up as much as his muscles allowed. He gave Kil’jaeden a baleful look. “Ish hawwwwt…”

“Learn some patience.” said Kil’jaeden, a twinge of empathy prickling at his heart while he knew that over time, Illidan would develop an immunity to scorching temperatures.

“But I’m hungry!” Illidan whined, his attraction to the fel making him chew on the bowl, inhaling the acrid scent of raw power. It smelt a bit like Kil’jaeden after a long day of bossing people around – of course, it _totally_ wasn’t demonic poop in a bowl…

“I can give you something, but you have to finish this after.” Kil’jaeden said, clicking his fingers. Galixus poked his head around the half open door and waved a meaty drumstick.

“Some meat, young Master?”

“Yeah!” Illidan shifted his food aside and ran up to the dreadlord, flinging the door open. “Gimme!” He snatched up the drumstick as soon as it was in arm’s reach, and bit into it. He took three points of fire damage, squealing. “YIIIIIIIEEE! It’s—“

“Fresh, yes.” Galixus inclined his head, eyeing Kil’jaeden. “Pain is an excellent teacher, you know.”

“Of course I know.” Kil’jaeden grumbled, now a little bothered that Illidan was acting on impulse rather than logic. _‘Oh well,’_ he thought. _‘It cannot be helped. He is but a child.’_

After half an hour, breakfast was done and singed tongues had been all healed up, ready for endless flapping. Illidan had no intent to talk Kil’jaeden’s ears off today, though. Thanks to his enchanted meal, he was wide-eyed and ready to soak, filter and store all the knowledge he could. He already understood that people could do anything they liked if they were physically powerful enough to kill those who opposed them, but also that many were stronger than they looked. Thus, social cues were to be followed and things like eye contact, body language and gait to be noticed. Illidan didn’t bother micromanaging anything. He lived a good, natural life in his opinion, Kil’jaeden having never given him reason to doubt himself. A confident, sweet child, Illidan captured the hearts of just about everyone beneath Kil’jaeden’s rank in the Palace. He sat on Mannoroth’s head during council meetings, something the pitlord begrudgingly agreed to by his superiors’ direct command. Sometimes he even offered an innocent and objective opinion on the matters being discussed, though codewords were used when talk of night elves and Azeroth came up. At the morning meeting today, Illidan was sprawled over Mannoroth’s bald skull with one arm draped along a curved tusk. His free hand was stuck in his own mouth, chewing on a finger. Mannoroth could hear a squeak-squeak noise and it was pissing him off enough to make his wings tremble. He breathed in, then let out a huge, heaving sigh. Archimonde looked his way.

“Something the matter, Destructor?” There was a nasty edge to his voice, suggesting he was not at all pleased at the subdued emotional display. Mannoroth grunted.

“Can one of you take this thing off me?”

Illidan continued pushing his finger around in his mouth, blissfully unaware and in fact enjoying the heat emanating from the pitlord’s head. He made a catlike mewl at Kil’jaeden, whose eyes he caught in his direction. Then, two bony hands closed around his waist. He started, turning around and plastering his fingers over Mannoroth’s forehead to maintain his grip.

“Awawa! What’re ya doing?”

The warlock gave him a simpering look, tugging on Illidan firmly. “Come on. Mannoroth can’t have you on his head all day.”

“Nyoooooo~!” Illidan kicked the warlock right in the face, his hoof making mincemeat out of it. The warlock screeched, then muttered something about not being paid enough for this. He slunk into the shadows with both hands over his eyes.

Tichondrius laughed. “I like him. He’s feisty.” His booming voice reminded Illidan much of Kil’jaeden, and the boy took the comment as praise, showing Tichondrius a peace sign with two fingers. Mannoroth groaned.

“Guuuurghh… Can we adjourn this meeting already? I’m going to be late to my chiropractor…”

“You can’t be late, you _fool_.” Archimonde opened a portal using nothing more than a thought. “Stop making excuses and get where you need to be.”

Mannoroth took this as a formal dismissal and hastily tossed his head hard enough to displace Illidan, then stormed through the portal. Archimonde widened it to better fit the pitlord’s thicc form, turning to Illidan who now sat on the table. He frowned.

“Get your finger out of your mouth, child. What is wrong with you?”

Illidan muttered something under his breath. Archimonde leered at him, suddenly moving his upper body forwards in a bent-over gesture of aggression. Illidan froze.

“M’ teef aah… fallin oww..”

“Oh!” Kil’jaeden rushed to scoop Illidan into his arms. “Our little champion is growing his first real fangs.” He’d nearly started with _my..._

“Yea!” Illidan raised his middle finger at Archimonde just where Kil’jaeden couldn’t see. Archimonde nearly shit himself, eyes glowing greener than a felstorm. “Gonna bite you first, Archi-monster.”

“A-“ Archimonde was speechless. **_‘The GALL of that child!’_**

 _‘Well, he’s not wrong.’_ came Kil’jaeden’s voice in a corner of Archimonde’s mind, both taunting and amused. Kil’jaeden made sure Archimonde couldn’t reply through their telepathic connection, cutting contact shortly before exiting the room.

“Come on.” he said to Illidan, marching at a brisk pace out of the Palace. “Time to make our escape.”

“Hyahahaha! Forwards to battle!!”

Kil’jaeden could feel himself melting as if an infernal had breathed on him. Illidan was becoming a true son of the Legion, and Kil’jaeden _adored_ him.

“Yes, we shall conquer all of creation together, you and I.” Kil’jaeden purred. “Today, Mac’Aree. Tomorrow, the universe.”

“The univerrrrse~!” Illidan cheered as they headed for the city, positioning himself on Kil’jaeden’s shoulders with wings flapping excitedly. Today was going to be a good day.

 

~

 

After two hours of people-watching from the balcony of some random dude’s apartment in Upper Mac’Aree, Kil’jaeden took Illidan to get some food. A single green rune that looked like a felhound’s underbite glimmered on the glass door of a restaurant. Only it wasn’t the fancy kind – it was on the lowest level of the city, or as low as it could be anyway without going underground. The door opened automatically for Kil’jaeden, and Illidan wandered in after him. The seats, tables and floor tiles were made of black rock with fel energy peeking through cracks that were there just for aesthetics. A structurally sound place, McFernal’s was where most lower class demons got their day’s fix of energy. Illidan ran ahead of Kil’jaeden, who took slow and measured strides up to the counter. There was a fearsome, topless red demon at the register who slammed his fist to his chest in salute.

“YOU FACE JARAXXUS, EREDAR LORD OF THE BURNING LEGION!” He yelled with more enthusiasm than Illidan had ever heard. The boy decided to match it – such energy was infectious, after all.

“Hi Lord Jaraxxus! Why is an Eredar Lord working at McFernals?”

Kil’jaeden nodded silently. _‘Good… He is learning class distinction.’_

“JARAXXUS DOES AS HE PLEASES! WAHAHAHA! WOULD YOU LIKE SOME **CHIPS?** ”

Illidan nodded. “Yeah! Chips! And also some…” He glanced up at the menu, reading quickly. “Felbat wings!” He’d eaten those before, and they were pretty damn good.

“FIVE CRYSTALS!” Jaraxxus roared, and Kil’jaeden threw a small pouch of currency towards him. “THANK YOU!”

Illidan leaned over the counter, barely tall enough to see over it but able to do so nonetheless. Things down here were built for smaller demons, not the ten foot tall doomguards and dreadlords. Kil’jaeden’s head nearly brushed the ceiling before he shrank to a more appropriate size.

Impish gibbering erupted from the kitchen just meters from where Illidan watched. Jaraxxus raised his huge crimson hands, fire swirling around his fingertips.

“IN-FER-NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” A blast erupted around him, and the imp noises ceased. Twenty seconds of preparation later, Jaraxxus presented Illidan with a nice bat-skin bag. “THERE YOU GO!”

“Thanks!” Illidan bounced in place, wings naturally flicking out and in as he displayed genuine gratitude. He then turned to Kil’jaeden, who lead him to a table by the front windows. Traffic and pedestrians went by, and Kil’jaeden was mostly safe from prying eyes. He’d put up the displacement field just seconds before who should walk in but Tichondrius!

“Jaraxxus! Just who I was looking for.” Tichondrius strode up to the counter and leaned on it, bodily dominating what little space there was available. “Have you heard anything about a new conquest lately?”  
A few other ears in the restaurant perked up, including those of Kil’jaeden.

_‘He stole my question… no, but maybe he has similar concerns.’_

“WHISPERS, YES!” Jaraxxus grinned, showing off his sharp fangs. “BUT I AM SURE YOU KNOW MORE THAN ME, BEING ON THE COUNCIL AND ALL!”

“Yes, yes, everyone knows who I am.” Tichondrius chuckled. “I just want to make sure all the public information is correct. Can’t have people spreading lies, can I?”

“HM! EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW IS RIGHT HERE!” Jaraxxus pulled a newspaper from under the counter and offered it to Tichondrius. “TWO CRYSTALS!”

“Oh fuck off, I’m not paying for that.” Tichondrius snatched the newspaper off him and flicked through it. Kil’jaeden was going to sprint over and nick the paper but a hiss distracted him. Illidan was fiddling with the bag, steam rising from within. He pushed it towards Kil’jaeden.

“Open it?”

“Of course.” Kil’jaeden absentmindedly tore strips from the bag with his claws and stole a chip out of the shredded mess. He bit into it, the fried imp leg a perfect texture and heat, and handed the half eaten piece to Illidan. “Here. It’s not too hot.”

“Nyamph.” Illidan grabbed a few chips and stuffed them into his face. Kil’jaeden went back to staring at Tichondrius, who undoubtedly felt eyes upon him. Smack bang in the middle of the newspaper was a huge spread of Azeroth, the planet being fancifully rendered in shades of green like everything else. Above it, bold letters screamed **‘UNKNOWN PLANET IN OUR SIGHTS: THE WORLD LORD SARGERAS DOESN’T WANT YOU TO SEE!’**

Kil’jaeden craned his neck. He could barely read the article beneath the picture, but Tichondrius confirmed it.

“Yep, that’s Azeroth alright. Who drew this? It’s surprisingly accurate.”

Jaraxxus blinked. “AZEROTH? WHAT AN INTERESTING NAME!”

Tichondrius’s wings drooped all the way to having their tips touch the floor. “Oh. I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

 _‘You naïve fool!’_ Kil’jaeden facepalmed, stress tightening his shoulders and neck almost instantly. _‘Grrrh! Why Archimonde let such a young Nathrezim serve him is beyond me! I must step in and prevent him from… wait… he is realizing his mistake. Calm down. Yes. Good.’_

Illidan was watching Kil’jaeden curiously, chewing on each chip using just half his face. “Mmmmrrrr… Why’re ya eavesdropping, K’jay?”

“I drop no eaves.” Kil’jaeden replied under his breath. “It is my right to know all that there is.”

“Oh.” Illidan didn’t really get it, but understood that Kil’jaeden didn’t want to be questioned. He quieted, picking up a felbat wing encrusted with crumbed skin cells. Kil’jaeden’s tail swished anxiously, beating against the stone seat that was just a tad too small for his majestic ass. Then he heard a - _CRACK-_. He slowly turned to see Illidan wincing in pain, a broken wing piece hanging out of his mouth with one tiny white tooth embedded in it. He raised his brows. _‘Oh, that was brutal._ ’

“Do you not know how to eat, boy?” Kil’jaeden chastised Illidan, fussing over him with his face lined in worry. “You peel the meat off with your teeth until you can crunch through- open your mouth, let me see that…”

“Heuurghh.” Illidan licked Kil’jaeden’s finger, then felt a flash of pain. “!”

“There. It won’t bleed.” Kil’jaeden removed his hand. “Now. Finish that off. I’m going to talk to Tichondrius.”

Illidan made a soft, upset noise, wings curling around his shoulders. Kil’jaeden looked at him.

“What? I will just be over there.”

Illidan averted his gaze, looking left, right and then up at Kil’jaeden with the biggest, most watery eyes possible.

“K’jay…”

Kil’jaeden heard a voice in his head. _‘ **He manipulates you, Deceiver**.’_ His tail swept against the chair faster, making an audible plapping sound. He adjusted his position, sitting on his tail so at least the pain would distract him from this unbecoming and unusual anxiety.

“Do not worry.” he said thinly, eating the leftover wing Illidan had chewed on. “I will not abandon you.”

Illidan’s face shifted to a look of pure joy, and it actually lightened Kil’jaeden’s heavy heart. The child could influence the Great Deceiver’s moods with little more than a smile. He was a son of the Legion indeed.

Tichondrius slid over into the seat beside Kil’jaeden, the displacement field easily accomodating him. “Sup.”

Kil’jaeden blinked several times, brows crinkling together.

“Man, you look terrible.” Tichondrius said honestly, patting Kil’jaeden on the shoulder. “If you don’t mind me saying, Lord Kil’jaeden.”

“…” The eredar could tell his new companion had much to say, and he simply looked aggrieved as he stared at Tichondrius’s pale face.

“It’s getting bad. We’ve got an information leak bigger than Lord Archimonde’s ego.”

“That big?” Kil’jaeden tried to smile, but couldn’t. _‘My moods… are so volatile these days…’_

“Mmhmm.” Tichondrius noticed then that Illidan was paying attention, ever the astute little spy. “Oh hey there, you tiny creature. I almost missed you.”

“I’m here!” Illidan chirped. “Want some food?”

“Yeah, I’ll have a bit.” Tichondrius took a wing and swallowed it whole. Kil’jaeden remembered that he was a mere teen among the Nathrezim, his manners unsuited to his fully-grown stature. He coughed.

“Tichondrius…”

“Don’t worry, I’m on it.” Tichondrius saluted with one finger to his chest, tapping twice. “I’ll get the lads together and we’ll figure out who it is – then we can torture them for the next few thousand years!”

Kil’jaeden sighed. _‘I need a drink…’_ For some reason, his energy had depleted at surprising speed today and he was eager to go home and have a nice lava bath. Of course, it was his way to work until he was nearly dead (and that sure was something for an immortal being) so he substituted natural energy for an overuse of fel every day. It wore him out over time, and he’d been doing this for millennia. Perhaps it had begun to catch up with him.

Tichondrius peered at Kil’jaeden, ever astute. His tone changed to something more subdued, concerned.

“You really don’t look well. Are you alright?”

“Tired.” Kil’jaeden said honestly. “I’ll be fine.”

“At least get comfortable.” Tichondrius reached between Kil’jaeden’s legs to move his tail, but withdrew his hand as Kil’jaeden suddenly gasped. His entire being seemed to shift, a cold fear stiffening his muscles and blanking out his face.

“Shit. Kil’jaeden, what-”

“I have to go.” Kil’jaeden stood up, unfurling his vast wings. They were trembling from base to tips, and his tail wrapped around one shaky leg. He grabbed Illidan by the scruff of his neck and bolted right out the window, shattering glass in his wake and zooming into the sky. The urgent need to flee seized his body like a shit held in too long and he could do nothing but submit to his most primal instincts. Up, up, up they went to the highest skyscraper upon which Kil’jaeden crashlanded, hooves skidding on the roof. He tumbled into a crouch, sinking down against an air vent with Illidan secure in his arms. The child squirmed so hard he managed to escape with all the intensity of an unwilling cat. A gust of strong wind blew in his direction, knocking him back into Kil’jaeden’s lap. Only, there was no lap to fall in. The Deceiver had his knees pulled up close to his chest and was completely closed off, wings around him like a shield. Quivering, he made a low, keening sound that died into a silent wail.

“K’jay!” Illidan shoved at him. “What’s wrong?! Did Tichondrius hurt you? I’ll kill him!!”

“N-n-n-nnnnnnn…” With arms wrapped around himself, Kil’jaeden dug his claws into his biceps. Thoughts battered his strength of will, all that was keeping him in one piece. _‘It is mere stress, you imbecile! You are better than this, **smarter** than this! Fool! Have you no mastery over your own body? Absolutely pathetic – no wonder Archimonde uses you as he does! It is done and gone! The past! How **dare** you show such weakness in front of Tichondrius? Illidan, too! What kind of role model are you, you stained carpet square…’_ Bright green ooze dripped from Kil’jaeden’s arms, and Illidan could smell the fel.

“What are you doing in there! Hey!” Illidan scratched at Kil’jaeden’s wings, but the skin was too tough for his mere kitten-claws to scratch. Kil’jaeden was entirely absorbed in his own breakdown, muttering softly.

“Don’t touch me… don’t touch me… do.. not… nnh!”

Illidan stepped back, tears filling his eyes. He was at a complete loss to helping Kil’jaeden, as this was one new experience he had no idea how to deal with.

 _‘He doesn’t want to be touched… but he looks like he’s in pain! And he’s shaking! Usually when I’m cold and shaky he holds me and makes it all better…’_ Illidan wrung his hands together. _‘Should I ask for help? I… can’t fly from up here on my own. Aaah! What do I do? What did Tichondrius do to him? Is he cursed? Is… IS HE GOING TO DIE?!’_ Illidan flattened himself against the rooftop as another strong wind whooshed by.

“Waaaaah!”

Illidan could not trust his own wings to carry him home, but Tichondrius could. The dreadlord sensed Kil’jaeden easily enough and flapped up the side of the building, landing atop it to a sight he’d never witnessed in all his years. Illidan turned his head and got up, pointing an accusing finger.

“YOU HURT HIM!” He screamed in a cracking, squeaky voice. “I’LL DESTROY YOU!”

“Wait, wait!” Tichondrius tried to placate him, sticking both hands out and hoping for peace. “Jeez, kid! You shouldn’t be seeing this.”  
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH HIM?!” Illidan desperately gestured towards Kil’jaeden, able to innately sense that something was very, _very_ wrong. Tichondrius hissed.

 _‘I have to do something.’_ In a snap decision, the dreadlord threw out his hands and cast a spell of illusionary night. He spoke a word of power, voice drowning out Kil’jaeden’s intrusive thoughts and sending Illidan into a dead sleep. Kil’jaeden realized himself calming by force, and barely kept himself from babbling words of gratitude to whoever had saved him from his mad spiral. Tichondrius continued to channel the spell until he saw Kil’jaeden’s wings relaxing, the eredar making little effort to resist.

 _‘Where are his defenses…? He’s… so vulnerable! Too vulnerable to be in public. I’m taking him home whether he likes it or not.’_ Tichondrius’s morals kicked into high gear, demon style. He cast a portal, the summoned darkness fading away. Kil’jaeden groaned, slumping over. Now Tichondrius could see the Deceiver’s molten blood running in thick rivulets down his bare arms, deep gashes in the skin caused by his own claws. He winced. _‘That’s not normal…’_

“Alright, come on.” Tichondrius beckoned, unwilling to touch Kil’jaeden after the result of his last attempt to manhandle him for his own good. “Into the portal.”  
Kil’jaeden didn’t move, and so Tichondrius concentrated his energy to move the portal on top of him, taking Illidan too. Kil’jaeden disappeared and so did Tichondrius, the portal closing behind them.

They reached the palace in seconds, just outside Kil’jaeden’s private chambers. Tichondrius disappeared out of sheer awkwardness, leaving a sleepy eredar lord and his little demon child to make the best of their situation.

Kil’jaeden smacked his face into the door and slumped to the floor, butt in the air and mind shut down. Illidan lay beside him motionless.


	12. Chapter 12

Kil’jaeden awoke in bed with two demons watching over him. An Inquisitor, basically a floating skull with robes draped over it, and one very concerned Tichondrius.

“Hey.” Tichondrius’s voice cracked with uncharacteristic nervousness. “Brought you a friend. Uh, to help you out with whatever’s going on in here…” He tapped the side of his head with a finger.

“What…?” Kil’jaeden was somewhat groggy from being forced asleep by very powerful magic, and he sat up amongst his pillows. Illidan was snoozing in a little ball just beside him, breathing and heart rate stable. “I’m quite alright.”

“Your mind is troubled.” said the inquisitor, voice echoing around the room. “I can tell. It’s my job.”

“This is the closest thing we have to a therapist, so make good use of…” Tichondrius gestured, unable to find the words. He just wanted to get out of there, the oppressive environment making him claustrophobic. Kil’jaeden’s suppressed emotions manifested in the items he had strong links with, and his room was just about full of them. It felt as if the walls were closing in, squeezing and squeezing ever so slowly. “Have fun.” Tichondrius left, closing the door behind him.

The inquisitor, who went by the name of Tormentus (real appropriate, I know) hovered beside Kil’jaeden. He then draped himself over the nearby endtable, having no body but the fabric of his robes.

“Tell me about your childhood.”

“There’s really no need.” Kil’jaeden could not trust anyone on Argus with his troubles – he would be slaughtered the moment he spoke against Sargeras. Of course, he was a powerful fighter in his own right, and those who would smite him for betrayal could certainly _try_ to take him down… but the minute Sargeras and Archimonde got involved, he was done for. He thought quietly to himself. _‘Nothing’s wrong. I just see Sargeras for the monster he is and feel endless sorrow and shame for being an accomplice to Argus’s corruption. Yes, I wish things could all go back to how they used to be… because this isn’t working. I never would have agreed to serving Sargeras if it meant he and… whatever he’s twisted Archimonde into… can violate my body like they did.’_ He put a hand over his mouth, eyes flicking to Tormentus. The inquisitor didn’t have any facial muscles with which he could express emotions, but a sense of surprise and unease manifested in the way he held himself. He raised his head, nodding slowly.

“I see…”

 _‘What?! He read my mind?’_   Kil’jaeden knew the ways of the inquisitors well. He had written their doctrine on torture, manipulation and deception himself. “Gahh!” Panic seized him and he swept a hand out to grab Tormentus by the head. The inquisitor hesitated to fight back, knowing who he was dealing with. He died a second later, skull in pieces all over the floor. Kil’jaeden wiped his hand on the bedcovers and flexed his fingers. Illidan was waking up, stretching out his arms and wings simultaneously.

“Myaaaaaouh~” With a nice, big yawn Illidan stuck his face into Kil’jaeden’s lap. “Morning, K’jay.”

Kil’jaeden grunted in response, stroking his right hand over the top of Illidan’s head. The boy had soft hair of midnight and mystery, while his eyes were open windows to an innocent soul. So Kil’jaeden thought, anyway. He did have fanfiction level descriptive abilities going on in his head as he looked at Illidan, losing himself in thoughts much nicer than what he’d been contemplating before. He brushed a thumb over Illidan’s left horn, now no longer a nub but the length of a finger, curving in three segments. Illidan purred at the attention, closing his eyes and craning his neck for more. Kil’jaeden patted him on the cheek, squishing it a bit.

_‘Oh… how comforting…’_

“Ehehe. What’s for breakfast?” Illidan clicked his teeth together, then wiggled his tongue around. “Owaah! There’s a hole in here!”

“You’ll grow a new tooth soon enough.” said Kil’jaeden. “Don’t worry. You can eat whatever you like.”

“Meat! I want bacon.”

“Go and get it. I will join you shortly.” Kil’jaeden expected Illidan to move but instead the boy lingered, rubbing his cheek against the Eredar’s palm. Kil’jaeden raised a brow in silence. Illidan looked up at him.

“Eeh…” Illidan wanted to stay where it was warm and cozy, but he also wanted to eat. He chewed on Kil’jaeden’s index finger, barely noticing how his body craved the Fel. “Mmn.”

“Hey.” Kil’jaeden spoke softly. “Don’t eat me. Those teeth of yours cannot handle tough old meat like this.” He poked Illidan’s tongue in such a manner that it felt awfully strange, and got his finger free in seconds. He shifted off the bed, moving to the wardrobe eager to get something warm on. Illidan whined, following him.

_‘I don’t wanna be left alone.’_

Kil’jaeden saw his own nude upper body in the mirror and hissed. Angry green scars no thicker than each of his claws marred his biceps and chest.

 _‘When did I…’_ He remembered, and looked at his hands. They looked back at him, claw tips bloodied and sharp. _‘……I don’t know why I did that. What an odd lapse in self control. I will investigate this later.’_ He chose a black tunic with matching pants, gold embroidery swirling at the hems. He touched something warm with his tail suddenly and turned around to see Illidan standing right behind him. _‘Sneaky…’_

Illidan raised both arms, demanding to be picked up. Kil’jaeden looked at him blankly but frowned inside, detecting an excess of emotional need within the child today. As he hoisted Illidan into his arms, carrying him as one would a baby, he wondered.

 _‘Did I act so strangely yesterday that I frightened him? He does not seem afraid, more… hm, adamant to be by my side. What a precious little thing. I can protect myself just fine…’_ His inner voice faded away. There was a ringing in his ears reminiscent of a Naaru chanting healing hymns to the deaf. Loud, repetitive, unheard.

 _‘ You cannot.’_ There was Velen’s voice. Kil’jaeden stopped in his tracks, inches before his chamber door. _‘You cannot protect yourself, and those marks on your body prove it.’_

 _‘What do you know?!’_ Kil’jaeden snapped back, starting at a brisk pace towards the council room where communal breakfasts were held. There was nothing quite like forcing himself into a room full of people to drown out his intrusive thoughts. _‘You aren’t even real! I do not know what you are but you hold no authority over me. You speak in a voice designed to deceive me, the Deceiver himself! You have already lost. Be silent.’_

_ ‘Hurt yourself in your confusion, you fool, and I will not be there to heal you.’ _

Kil’jaeden clutched Illidan tighter, wings raising as his upper body tensed. Illidan could smell fear, just like any good Legion lad.

“K’jay…?”  
“Yes?” Kil’jaeden’s stoic expression twitched between anger and nothingness the harder he tried to control it. Illidan whimpered.

“Your face is… doing something…”

“Is it, now?” Kil’jaeden tried to laugh, instead taking a shallow breath in and holding it. “…Ghaah.” He exhaled. “There are better things to look at.” By now they were on the second floor, and Kil’jaeden was almost running. Illidan bounced up and down, sensing unusual urgency. He meeped all the way to the council room, and Kil’jaeden set him down in a chair piled with many pillows. Heads turned for a second in his direction.

“That was quick.” said Tichondrius, sitting on the table beside his brothers Anetheron and Mephistroth. Anetheron was making braids out of Mephistroth’s long black hair, while Tichondrius sipped at some fel coffee. “Any luck?”

“He tried to read my mind against my will.” said Kil’jaeden, reaching into a nearby cage and pulling out a lesser demon, twisting its head off. “I destroyed him.”

“Huh.” Tichondrius stared for a moment, then shrugged. “Oh well.” He picked up a bagel (really just boiled pitlord anus with yeast) and took a bite out of it. Across the table, Mannoroth threw up. A bunch of imps ran to start cleaning while Mephistroth scrunched his face into a nasty grimace.

“Geez, what’s with him? He looks like he’s been cheating on death with chronic illness.”

“He’s stressed.” Kil’jaeden said. “Lord Sargeras has assigned him as Hakkar’s backup for the Azeroth mission.”

“Backup?!” Anetheron hooted at that. “Gahaha! That’s pathetic! Mister big and powerful getting to crawl behind _Hakkar_ of all people!”

“The mission is still in its early planning phase.” Kil’jaeden had trouble recalling the facts (all of which were his duty to remember) and put a hand to his forehead. “Trust in Lord Sargeras’s will.”

“Yes, yes.” Mephistroth nodded, then winced as his hair was pulled. He elbowed his brother sharply. “Be careful!”

“Stop moving, then!” Anetheron tugged extra hard and Mephistroth roared like a felhound in labor.

Kil’jaeden took this moment to walk away from the shitshow and crunched on the headless demon he was holding. It didn’t taste all that good, dampening his mood somewhat. But food wasn’t really that important to him. It was for Illidan, who’d found someone’s bacon and was tearing it to pieces. Kil’jaeden leaned against the wall, watching. His eyes roved to the large windows that offered a view of the city, and if he squinted he could see Krokuun in the distance. He didn’t have much business in the other parts of Argus these days, his work being localized for convenience’s sake. Soon enough though he would need to take Illidan to a school, and the best ones were on the other side of the planet. It was a good thing that portals existed. Kil’jaeden couldn’t imagine having to fly around Argus for hours – there were better things to do.

 _‘Better things… like hunt down Velen.’_ Kil’jaeden resisted slapping himself in the side of the head. His obsession had increased as if the harm Sargeras brought upon him was making him more woke by the day. He ate, busying his mind with the erection of defensive wards. One wall, two walls, one with spikes, four… _‘Let’s see Archimonde push me some more.’_

_~_

A few weeks passed, and Kil’jaeden was _procrastinating_. He was supposed to be filling in forms for Illidan’s enrolment at the School of Slaughter, but instead was laying on the couch with his head in Archimonde’s lap, watching TV. A live transmission of Argus’s yearly Jed’hin tournament flickered across the green holographic surface, two Eredar grappling in the center of a wide flaming ring. Kil’jaeden wasn’t even paying attention, somewhat numb as Archimonde leaned forwards and cheered at the screen.

“Yeah, fucking kill him!” Archimonde jabbed a finger towards the competitor he’d bet on. “Break every bone in his body!”

Kil’jaeden sighed softly. _‘What am I doing…?’_ Archimonde had had his way with him an hour ago, and he was too weak to move. Thus, he lay here limp and weary without a care in the world. Despair clouded his mind, along with apathy and perhaps even hopelessness. _‘Urgh…’_

Archimonde smacked Kil’jaeden on the ass out of frustration. “Idiot! You could’ve kicked him RIGHT there…!” He threw his hands up, shaking his head. “Whatever. I’m not paying for that loss.”

Kil’jaeden shifted a little, tail curled in between his legs. “You have to.”

“No I don’t.” Archimonde pouted, pushing his fingers between Kil’jaeden’s stiff wings to part them somewhat. “You’re awfully tense, Kil. What is it now?”

“Just… have a lot to consider.” Kil’jaeden murmured. He stiffened further when Archimonde started kneading his back muscles, thumbs sliding up and around his spine. “You… don’t have to do that.”

“Too bad.” Archimonde pressed in harder, wiggling his fingers. “Need something to do now that Varasuum’s out of the game.” The commentators on TV were going over the match which Archimonde now had no interest in, his favoured competitor having lost terribly. Instead, he busied himself with massaging the tension out of Kil’jaeden’s back and wings. “So tell me,” he tugged on Kil’jaeden’s right horn to grab his attention. “How’s that little monster of yours?”

“Bngh.” Kil’jaeden replied, wincing. He breathed in, shuddered and made an attempt at conversation. “Quite well. He’ll be going to school soon, to learn the art of war.”

“I could teach him.” Archimonde offered. “And probably kill him during training.”

“Yeah, no.” Kil’jaeden lashed at Archimonde with his tail. “Don’t even think about it. Lord Sargeras has already told me where to send him.”

“Oh?” Archimonde’s left hand slid to give Kil’jaeden’s bum a light squeeze. “The School of Slaughter, I’ve heard.”

“Mhm.” Kil’jaeden started to close his eyes, submission to his fate allowing him to relax. He could hate the circumstances later. Archimonde _did_ have very skilled fingers. “Bought him a sword already. He’s been chasing Mannoroth with it all day, since I got it sharpened.”

“Hahah! Excellent.” Archimonde had a vision of Mannoroth as the family dog, and cackled. “Learning his bloodlust already, is he?”

“Something like that. Mmmnn…” Kil’jaeden’s tail swayed lazily as Archimonde manipulated his lower back muscles. _‘Oh, that feels good… Damn you, Archi.’_

“You like that, do you?” Archimonde purred softly, enjoying the control he had over his friend. “Such a sensitive body…”

Kil’jaeden decided not to reply aloud, instead thinking. _‘Please be careful.’_

“Sure, sure.” Archimonde pressed at the base of Kil’jaeden’s tail with the pads of two fingers, working up until he met resistance. There was a silver-grey ring there that he tugged on, removing it. Kil’jaeden shivered, making a small high pitched noise.

“There…” Archimonde cast the ring aside. “Perfect.”

Kil’jaeden blushed darkly, his expression unseen in Archimonde’s lap. Something was poking him in the cheek and he turned his head, breathing in. Archimonde _wanted_ him, as he always did, and Kil’jaeden knew.

 _‘Oh, who am I to deny him?’_ he thought, flexing his wings slowly. _‘He always gets what he wants in the end.’_

Archimonde took both hands and pulled Kil’jaeden up, maneuvering him into his lap. Kil’jaeden peered at him, yellow-green eyes mere slits.

“Ooh, you _are_ enjoying this.” Archimonde chuckled, groping Kil’jaeden’s ass with one hand and threading fingers through his hair with the other. “Come here.” He nudged Kil’jaeden’s head closer to his own, and they touched forehead plates together. It was a demonstration of Archimonde’s dominative power, taking a usually heartfelt and sacred gesture of love and using it in this context. Kil’jaeden wanted to cry. Emotion surged within him, confused and incomprehensible. It was easier to shut down. Much, much easier.

“Do as you will…” he murmured. There was no life in his voice.

“There’s a good boy.” Archimonde replied, a smile curving his thin grey lips. He tilted his head to the right a little, twining his tentacles with Kil’jaeden’s. “I’ve got you now.”

“Mmnh!” Kil’jaeden’s brows drew together, his mouth opening ever so slightly as he gasped. This was the equivalent of a tongue at the tip of his cock, with many fingers pleasuring him at once. “A…aah..”

“Heh heh.” Archimonde pushed his lips against Kil’jaeden’s, the arrogance never leaving his face. How he loved to overstimulate the usually grim and joyless Deceiver! Kil’jaeden could make such sweet noises when he was forced to. Archimonde could feel his friend’s hips tilting in a favourable direction, Kil’jaeden having arched his back without even knowing. His tail stood right up in the air, leaving Archimonde easy access to his more sensitive inner places. As Archimonde kissed him, fel saliva dripping down his chin, he spread open Kil’jaeden’s ass.

 _‘ **Still hungry for more?’** _ he teased telepathically, while his fingers started some sneaky business down there.

 _‘It hurts…’_ Kil’jaeden thought. _‘You’ll break me.’_

 ** _‘Good. It’s just what you deserve.’_** Archimonde clawed at those crimson buttocks, leaving scratches that bled thinly. Drawing his face back for breath, he took a look at Kil’jaeden. Liquid seeped from the Eredar’s eyes, painting his cheeks in a thin golden film. Archimonde laughed, his tendrils uncoiling from Kil’jaeden’s. “What’s this?”

Ashamed, Kil’jaeden brought up his right hand and wiped his face with the back of it. His wings trembled as he turned his face away, only to have it wrenched back to stare into Archimonde’s cruel eyes.

“Just when I thought we could have some fun.” Archimonde spat his words out, taking one hand from Kil’jaeden’s ass to grab onto a horn. He forced Kil’jaeden’s head back, sinking his teeth into the Eredar’s thick neck. Kil’jaeden yelped, a shuddering breath escaping him. Archimonde made him bleed, and after licking the viscous energy up he whispered a dark word of branding. A small sigil appeared where Archimonde’s teeth had pierced the skin.

 **“ _You’ll never lie to me, Deceiver.”_** Archimonde continued to mark Kil’jaeden’s flesh until he could go no lower, and drew back with a smirk. “Or I’ll gut you both.”

“!!” Kil’jaeden leaned back, his hooves trying to find purchase on the couch but harmlessly flailing behind him. Archimonde grabbed him by the throat then and he knew he was done for. With blood trickling down his chest and abdominal muscles, energy all but spent, he hung his head. And he choked.

Archimonde spread his legs out and groaned. “Oh, yes.” He squeezed Kil’jaeden tighter. “Do that again.” Kil’jaeden tried to breathe, but crushed as he was he could only struggle. It excited Archimonde further, whose massive meat stick pressed against Kil’jaeden’s stomach. “Mmn… let me see that pretty face of yours change just for me.” Kil’jaeden was going from red to black, eyes rolling back in his head. He did not even bother struggling past his natural self preservation instincts, and even those were weak, desperate. Archimonde let him go just before he passed out and clutched Kil’jaeden close to his chest.

“Breathe, now…” he whispered, licking a bit of stray blood from his hand. “And show me what your mouth is capable of today.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little bit of a time skip here

Illidan was eight years old by the time Kil’jaeden deemed him ready to attend school, and finally acquiesced to Sargeras’s demands.

“Illidan,” he said one late afternoon, just after a meeting. “I have good news.”

Illidan flapped his wings in excitement, running up to jump into Kil’jaeden’s lap. He wiggled his hooves around, gazing into his guardian’s face.

“What is it? What is it?!”

“You are going to start learning how to swing that sword of yours properly.” Kil’jaeden cuddled Illidan, bringing him close enough so he could plant a gentle kiss on Illidan’s forehead. “And magic, too. Would you like to shoot fire out of your hands?”

Illidan gasped, eyes so wide they nearly exploded. “I can do that?”

“You sure can, with the right instruction.” It warmed Kil’jaeden’s heart to see Illidan so eager, and he smiled. “Your lessons will begin tomorrow at the most prestigious school on Argus.”

Illidan’s face froze in its wide grin. “Weh- you’re not going to teach me?”

“No.” Kil’jaeden monitored Illidan’s thoughts, taking what doubts he could into his own mind and feeding on the anxious energy. “There are blademasters and sorcerers who can do a much better job of instructing you than I.”

“You’ve done really well teaching me stuff, though!” Illidan squeezed Kil’jaeden around the waist, brushing his horns against the Eredar’s bare chest. “What’s it gonna be like?”  
“You will go to a place, take part in training exercises and learn things, then come home.” Kil’jaeden explained while petting Illidan’s hair. “It’s quite simple, really. Everyone on Argus has to go to school so they can serve the Legion well.”

“Did you go?”

“I did.” Kil’jaeden frowned, trying to remember. “Hmm… it was so long ago.” He’d studied the Arcane arts and excelled beyond measure. Now… he could not conjure, only destroy. “Are you scared?”

“A bit.” Illidan shifted around. “You already went… so you can’t come with me this time.”

“That’s right. But you will be alright, little one. Lord Sargeras has ordered your protection when I am not around, so everyone will be looking out for you.”

“Oh! Nice.” Illidan grinned. “I’m gonna become the best fighter ever! Hah!” He punched Kil’jaeden in the chest, and Kil’jaeden feigned death.

“Ghwaaaah! My ribs~!”

“Critical hit!” Illidan climbed up and sat right on Kil’jaeden’s head, arms in the air. “I’ve conquered the Deceiver!”

Kil’jaeden dissolved into a pile of giggles, Illidan’s unbearable cuteness making him want to curl up and tickle him. He’d never had such impulses before, and took them as they came. Afterwards, they slept a long sleep together in preparation for tomorrow’s adventure.

 

Kil’jaeden rose earlier than usual, so early in fact that he could feel the night’s chill of endless void instead of dawn’s burning light. He dressed himself methodically in pauldrons, bracers, greaves and a belt, leaving his chest mostly bare. In the bathroom he moisturised his face with a handful of fel, hoping to look a few thousand years younger. There were going to be journalists covering the year’s intake of demons at the School of Slaughter, and Kil’jaeden couldn’t bear to have any candid, unflattering pictures taken of him. The media was something he found difficult to control, and also an enemy of his persuasion skills. He was a beloved leader who could sway the hearts of everyone on Argus with just a few words, but a bit of slander or conspiracy talk in the newspapers could undo all that in days. As he combed his lovely silver hair, he heard Illidan wandering around.

“Get yourself something to wear!” Kil’jaeden called out in a strong voice. “We leave in thirty minutes.”

“Eeeeh?” Illidan approached the bathroom with his long robes trailing behind him. He bit his sleeve, mouth making a little V shape. “But what about bwekfasht?”

“You can eat quickly. I’ve seen it.” Kil’jaeden patted his cheeks and ran fel-covered thumbs under his sleepless eyes. “Go on. Clothes.”

“’Kay…” Illidan blearily rubbed at his nose, sniffled and went into the walk-in wardrobe. Rows of garments loomed above him, along with a few suits of armour and all of Kil’jaeden’s jewelry. Illidan blinked. _‘What am I supposed to wear…? I’m going to learn about fighting, so… armour? But none of this will fit me. Maybe some leggings that are easy to move in. And this tunic… ah, crap! My wings!”_ Struggling, Illidan squeaked and grunted until he was so tangled up he could only wiggle his fingers. “K’JAAAAAY!”

“What?” Kil’jaeden exited the bathroom looking like the finest Eredar Lord the Nether had ever seen, silver ornaments adorning his tendrils, ears and tail. “Oh. Come here.”

Illidan rolled over to Kil’jaeden, who assisted him with setting his clothes in order.   
“Twenty minutes. Breakfast now.”

 _‘I don’t like this.’_ Illidan thought honestly as they walked at a brisk pace towards the council room. _‘All hurried and cold… I wanna take my time and relax with K’jay.’_ He reached out to hold Kil’jaeden’s hand, but the Eredar was marching along too quickly for him to grab on to it. He whined, skipping forwards and yanking Kil’jaeden’s tail instead.  
“Slow down!”  
“GYAAARGH!” Kil’jaeden roared, whirling around with his left hand raised. Menacing fire boiled in his eyes and insurmountable power swelled his muscles. Illidan shrank back, guarding his face with his arms on instinct. Kil’jaeden yanked Illidan’s arms down and picked him up by the waist roughly. “Don’t you ever do that again! I told you, my tail is sensitive!”

“Myaaaa…” Illidan was carried like a carpet into the council room, where Kil’jaeden set him down for a bit of freedom. The first thing he did was look accusingly at Kil’jaeden, who’d pulled a stack of papers off the table and was flicking through them at impressive speed. Mannoroth observed the interaction, glancing towards Illidan. Illidan noticed him and flapped his wings as hard as he could, straining to climb on the Pit Lord’s back. With a sigh, Mannoroth allowed this and handed a string of reddish-green sausages to him.

“Eat, kid.”

“Maaan…” Illidan bit into a sausage, his tiny fangs and sharp milk teeth sinking into the meat. “I don’t know about this.”  
“About what? You’ll be fine with Lord Sargeras’s protection behind you.”

“But what about K’jay?”

“K-” Mannoroth breathed in, closing his eyes for a moment. “ _Lord Kil’jaeden_ is looking out for you too, yes.”

“No he isn’t.” Illidan pointed a sausage at the Eredar. Kil’jaeden was squinting at a piece of paper, stroking his beard in thought.

“So he’s busy right now. Doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things.” Mannoroth plucked the half-eaten sausage out of Illidan’s hand and stuffed it in his face.

“Hey!”

“Oh shut up, it was mine to begin with. You’ve got more.”

Illidan snarled, dunking his food into Mannoroth’s coffee just to spite him. Mannoroth didn’t even care, his drink was pulverized meat juice and fel energy mixed together anyway.

Kil’jaeden suddenly got up, stuffing the papers into the side of his belt. He beckoned to Illidan.

“Come.”

Illidan gaped, sausage chunks falling out of his mouth. “Why’re ya in such a hurry?”

“Good habit.” Kil’jaeden began to cast, making a portal in seconds that would’ve taken a lesser demon minutes. “Also, they flay you if you’re late.”

“Waaaaaaaaaaagh!” Illidan clutched Mannoroth, holding the Pit Lord’s thick neck as if he would drown without it. “You didn’t say that!”

“Regardless, we’re leaving. Mannoroth, you can come too.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Mannoroth lumbered towards the portal, drinking his coffee in one gulp and throwing the cup to a random servant. Illidan griped all the way through to the other side, which was a crisp and dry heat over flat grey ground. Krokuun was a less civilized and more open land, as open as anywhere on the mountainous, tainted Argus could be. Mannoroth recognized the location at once and permitted himself a toothy smile.

“Lord Kil’jaeden-”

“Be silent.” Kil’jaeden was tense, slowly flexing his wings in and out to calm himself. The majestic School of Slaughter stood before them, Kil’jaeden having researched the coordinates for teleportation beforehand. It was an enormous black building of spines and arches, symmetrical Eredar architecture at its finest with a hint of Legion cruelty. The outer gates made it look like a giant walled citadel, with seven tall floors and extensive courtyards. Many demons were milling about the entrance, Voidwalkers and Wrathguards and just about every species on Argus. Few traveled with companions, many seeming apprehensive with a paper in one hand and some sort of weapon in the other. By Sargeras’s decree, military training was mandatory and refusal was punishable by death. Not all the races assimilated into the Burning Legion were warlike, the Fel even making some crazed and paranoid instead of bloodthirsty. Illidan eyed an incubus muttering to himself, thin tail swishing erratically behind him. The demon smacked himself in the face with his enrolment sheet and began to laugh. Illidan curled into Mannoroth’s lower back, gripping one of the Pit Lord’s spikes to try and hide himself. He was no taller than Mannoroth’s leg, after all. He could be small and sneaky when he wanted to. Kil’jaeden, however, was having none of it and plucked Illidan with great force into the air. Illidan kicked his legs, valiantly fluttering his wings.

“Make nice for the cameras.” Kil’jaeden growled as he carried Illidan through the open gates, standing taller than anyone else in the crowd. Mannoroth considered himself dismissed and went off to have a little adventure of his own. There were people _everywhere_ , but anyone of extreme size had paths made for them as nobody wanted to be stepped on. Kil’jaeden could crush lesser demons underfoot as could Mannoroth and even Tichondrius. Kil’jaeden strode forth with his head held high, Illidan in his arms and cameras clicking in the distance. A suited succubus flitted by, hovering around Kil’jaeden’s head.

“Lord Kil’jaeden! Hey! Good to see ya!”

Kil’jaeden gave her a withering look and continued walking.

“Spare a word for your adoring masses? C’mon, I get a whipping if I don’t squeeze out a few lines from you.”

“Then you’d best prepare yourself.” said Kil’jaeden coldly, backhanding the succubus and her intrusive microphone, too. Illidan gasped.

“K’jay! Why’d ya do that?”

“Do I look like I have time for pandering? You are my only concern, Illidan, and I will deliver you to class safely.” Everyone was lining up to hand in their enrolment forms and Kil’jaeden decided to skip the line, because he was cool like that and could do whatever he wanted. Those waiting stared at his impressive, armored form as he went by.

Kil’jaeden slapped his paper down on the intake officer’s desk, which was really just a slab of rock with a skull keeping the other sheets from blowing away. The officer, a hooded inquisitor, looked up.

“Oh! The Weaponmaster would like to see you, my Lord.”

“What? Why? I have the requisite information right here.”

Illidan paid attention, eyes wide. _‘Something’s not right… he’s hurrying way too much today. It doesn’t make sense.’_

“Just this way, please.” The inquisitor gestured to a spooky looking hallway lined with iron braziers. Felflame illuminated the features of a Felguard with a long spear in one hand, and he used it to beckon Kil’jaeden over. In silence Kil’jaeden followed until he got to the end of the hallway, where it was quite chilly compared to outside. Some reddish mineral dust had gotten in Kil’jaeden’s hair and was itching his scalp, worsening his mood. This was some high stakes business he was conducting, and if he screwed up, there would be hell to pay.

Weaponmaster Xargach greeted Kil’jaeden with a swift salute, the Wrathguard getting right to the point with what he had to say.

“We are honored to host you and your protégé, Lord Kil’jaeden. In accordance with Master Sargeras’s wishes, here are the classes Illidan will undertake.” Xargach gave Kil’jaeden a stone tablet with several runes etched into it. Kil’jaeden hadn’t taught Illidan the more advanced combinations of runes that formed complex words, and sighed.

 _‘This is his schedule?’_ There was a focus on dual wielding bladework and sorcery, with little else Kil’jaeden found notable. _‘Hm. Acceptable.’_

“On the other side are attendance hours, rules and uniform which varies depending on the classes each day.” Xargach then gave Kil’jaeden a newly bound book with a fresh, bloodstained leather cover. “Here’s our liability policy.”

Kil’jaeden took the book and incinerated it in one hand, leaning down to glare into Xargach’s narrow eyes.

“I don’t care about your liability policy. One hair on Illidan’s head comes to harm and you will face the wrath of Lord Sargeras himself. That is, if you’re alive by the time I’m done with you.” He sneered, exultant dominance running through his body. _‘Goodness, I feel like Archimonde. I suppose I am quite passionate about my duty here…’_

Xargach bowed his head, trembling. “W-with all respect, my Lord… Due to the nature of the training here, there’s a high risk of injury and also death.”

“Change it.” Kil’jaeden said, stern and unreasonable. “The future of the Legion depends on Illidan’s success.”

“Wait, what?” Illidan turned and looked up at Kil’jaeden, fear plain on his cute little face. “Wh-”

“Ah.” Kil’jaeden put Illidan down, waving the schedule tablet at Xargach. “Illidan cannot read this. Assign him an assistant to assure maximum punctuality at all times.”

“Aiiii…” Xargach put his head in his hands. “I will… find someone. “

_‘How demanding!’_

“Good.” Kil’jaeden turned, wings tossing documents about and ruffling Illidan’s hair. “Darkness guide you.” And he was gone.

Illidan resisted the urge to follow him, rooted in place by shock, fear and an impulse Kil’jaeden had planted in his mind. By the time that dissolved, the Eredar Lord was gone. Illidan slowly turned to see Xargach with a fearsome grimace on his white face.

“You,” Xargach said in a clipped, formal tone “Follow me.”

They went into the adjacent room where an Eredar in long, low cut robes was scribing into a massive book. She took a page from a stack, copied information from it into her book, and then turned the used page to ash. Now that Illidan looked closely, her entire office was made of ash, including the furniture.

“Zaara. Pay attention.” Xargach clicked his fingers.

“I _was_ , until you inter _rup_ ted me.” Zaara raised her head, green lines around her eyes standing out against her red skin. “What, the golden child’s here?”

“Yes. Lord Kil’jaeden wants you to look after him, take him to classes and whatnot.”

“Un-fucking-believable.” Standing, Zaara scraped her hooves against the floor and kicked up a few embers. “All this paperwork and I get babysitting duty, too.”

“Hey!” Illidan bared his teeth at her. “I’m not a baby!”

“You sure look like one.” The Eredar cackled, going over to a holographic display on the wall to the right of her desk. “Let’s see… Illidan, no last name, schedule’s… uh huh… right.” She memorized all that she needed to and nodded to Xargach. He smiled thinly and went back to his own office.

_‘She complains a lot, but she’s good at her job.’_

“Alright, golden boy. You probably skipped the line with your fancy father figure there so we’re going to get you back in. Keep organized, right here.” Zaara brought Illidan to a hallway where the demons from outside were still in an orderly line, waiting to receive uniforms. A floating eyeball watched those closest to the point of collection, informing the vendors what size was to be handed over next. Illidan slipped into line when nobody was looking, and ended up with a custom-shrunk uniform in all black with a green 1 on the front. He looked up at Zaara, unsure.

“Hellfire, don’t you have any will of your own? Beginner Swordsmanship’s first for you. This way.” She gestured and began to walk, but Illidan grabbed hold of her hand. Zaara snatched it away at once. “Don’t fucking touch me, halfblood.”

Illidan’s forehead creased in distress. “What’s that? What did I do?”

“Gah, a simpleton, too. I expected better from the Deceiver, honestly.” Zaara spoke mostly to herself, storming out of the main building and into the Eastern Courtyard. Here there was a circular sigil on the ground and thirty demons sat around waiting for something to happen. “Sit with those guys and obey everything your instructor says. After, I’ll collect you.”

“…” Illidan listened, eyes fixed on the hulking creatures that he’d been avoiding for most of his time on Argus. Now he was to truly assimilate with them, and hoped he looked ‘alien’ enough to fit in. Zaara pushed him and his hooves took him across the dusty ground until he sat down heavily at the edge of the circle, looking just as outcast as he felt. His usual enthusiasm and friendly demeanor seemed to be a home thing only – here he was thoroughly intimidated by the sights and mannerisms of his new classmates. Two Doomguards were arm wrestling each other, huge muscles quivering and eyes burning with competitive hatred. Felguards sat cross-legged, six of them in a line with hands on their knees, still and unblinking. There were even a couple of Mo’arg, smaller than the typical size and therefore not yet mature. This interested Illidan, for he’d known nearly all demon species on Argus to be fully grown at their point of creation. Only Pit Lords and Eredar seemed to be created differently, and now apparently Mo’arg, too. Illidan didn’t stare too long, however. He found a strange nausea rising within him as he looked at a Mo’arg dude stabbing the dirt with a thick finger.

_‘What a… weird looking face.’_

After a few minutes, a topless Wrathguard appeared through a portal carrying a basic shortsword.

“Attention!”

The students looked up.

“That means _stand_ , you cretins.”

Illidan sighed. _‘This’ll be fun…’_


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is pretty intense, it’s got some heavy stuff in it. It also requires suspension of disbelief. Best of luck to those who try to make it through!
> 
> content warning for angst and nsfw and W H U M P... also repetition

Kil’jaeden arrived at the Palace, closing his portal behind him with an aggressive tail sweep. His fingers stung with latent magic, chest aching fiercely. Rushing to his chambers, he burst through the door to his ensuite and stared into his own eyes. The mirror showed a crimson face lined with worry, tension and… was that _fury_? His tendrils were shaking. A twitch at his lips turned into a snarl. Then he saw it. On the left side of his neck were two faded green scars, small and toothy looking. They were encircled by a sigil he recognized only because it was bleeding – it had never appeared on his skin before. If it had, he’d not noticed it at all.

_‘What is this?!’_ Kil’jaeden dug a claw into the mark and hissed, fire spewing from his bright eyes. “Rrrrgh!” Pain stabbed at his extremities, and he could sense the will of another pushing at his mind, telling him to stop. He listened, taking in the tone and signature of the badly concealed presence. Then he remembered some months ago who had been messing with his neck.

_‘Archimonde?’_

**_‘Nnnnnyeeeees?’_ **

_‘Whatever you’re playing at, you will regret.’_

**_‘Come now, brother. I do this for your own good. Lord Sargeras has been displeased with your behaviour for quite some time. Thinks you’re going soft.’_ **

_‘You told him that.’_

**_‘I did. Never miss a beat, do you? Oh, Kil’jaeden. You’re so afraid…’_ **

Kil’jaeden felt a wave of hot energy ripple through his muscles, his chest tightening further. He was painfully aware of his own ribs wanting to piece through his flesh.

_‘What… have you done to me?’_

**_‘Nudged you towards your truer self. Don’t you feel like… sinking your teeth into something? Ripping the life from an innocent’s body? Maybe… having urges of a different sort?’_ **

_‘It can’t be.’_ Kil’jaeden could scarcely believe Archimonde so bold as to enact the _binding rite_ upon him. Without his consent, too! _‘It is sacred! You… you defile our traditions!’_

**_‘Oh, xuul xaal*. It’ll bring you the Master’s favour.’_ **

_‘By turning me into a raping, murdering BEAST?’_

**_‘You exaggerate. But yes, I do like to murder. Now we are closer together, and you can explore who you truly are-’_ **

_‘TAINTED BY YOUR ESSENCE! I WILL KILL YOU FOR THIS!’_

**_‘There’s a good boy. Feel alive for the first time in years. You want to fight? Come and get some.’_ **

Kil’jaeden gripped his head, sinking his claws into his plated skull. The bone was too strong for him to pierce, but he _needed_ to spill blood, to rend and tear and _get it out_. He glowered at himself in the mirror, eyes shining green and gold at once. His tail smacked against an armored thigh, flicking angrily between his legs. Two claws went straight for the sigil, digging light and shaky to peel off the skin. Kil’jaeden groaned through his teeth, face drawn in suffering.

_‘It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.’_

Archimonde’s voice echoed around his head, shooting daggerlike words through his brain.

**_‘You deserve it. Bastard. Soft, weak thing you are.’_ **

Kil’jaeden winced every time that damned voice spoke to him, growling in a more distorted manner to try and drown it out. His hands were trembling too much for him to get any sort of precise grip on the piece of skin he was tearing away, and in frustration he began scratching at it frantically.

_‘Get out… get out. Don’t touch me. Stay away from me.’_

**_‘Pathetic. You give orders you can’t even reinforce.’_ **

“Nnnnnnnggghhhhh!” Kil’jaeden convulsed, blood spraying from his neck. He’d pierced a vein, and now the mirror was covered in glowing green ichor. Power drained from him with every passing second and his mind whirled in panic. Usually he could keep excellent control over his thoughts and feelings, able to logic out anything that wasn’t useful to him. But he was a creature of flesh and bone with a body, mind and soul. The Deceiver had his limits.

“Master Kil’jaeden!!” A gravely voice barked at him from within his chambers, and Kil’jaeden twisted his head to the right despite the pain. It was Galixus, face whiter than steam. “What are you _doing_?!”

“G…G….” Kil’jaeden was hunched over the sink, blood dripping from the mirror down onto the floor and pooling around his hooves. His wings were quivering, as was his tail that curled between his tightly squeezed legs. There wasn’t an inch of clean skin on him, his own life force painting him in neon green. “Get… out…”

“With all due respect!” Galixus enunciated each word with an accompanying step, four paces taking him into the bathroom. “I will do this first.” He caught sight of the corruption overtaking Kil’jaeden from the left side of his neck and grabbed the loose, drenched bit of skin that seemed to have caused it. His own spectral sight could detect a presence at odds with Kil’jaeden’s own, something the Eredar was clearly trying to fight. Kil’jaeden thrashed, beating his wings against Galixus and succeeding in having a long bit of flesh torn from his neck. Galixus grabbed hold of Kil’jaeden’s shoulder and stared right into the wound. The sigil was still there, seared into the strands of torn muscle. Thinking quickly he reared back and all of a sudden dove in to _bite_. Oh, how Kil’jaeden screamed! Like a thousand dying imps mixed with fornicating cats, he wailed and wailed even after the Dreadlord had ripped out a huge chunk of meat, taking the accursed sigil with him. He spat it into the sink, taking a step back with hooves slushing in three inches of blood. Kil’jaeden crashed to the floor, arms over his head and wings wrapped around his body. He looked so _small_ to Galixus then, the Dreadlord staring at him in shock. But with his ability to be objective and detached from any given situation, Galixus steadied himself and went to pick Kil’jaeden up. The Eredar’s ceaseless yowling was eroding the stone walls, magical strength so deeply imbued in Kil’jaeden’s being that his very will was defending him when his body could not. Galixus endured it and hauled Kil’jaeden up by the waist, forcing his hands under the wings to better secure his hold. Kil’jaeden kicked him hard in the knee and Galixus went down, knowing better than to fight a cornered Eredar. On the floor, he watched Kil’jaeden bend over, shaking like a tortured prisoner, horns the only part of him that had escaped the bloody carnage. He retched and a torrent of fel spewed out of his mouth, only adding to the mess on the floor.

Galixus scrunched up his face, standing in the bubbling, acidic goop that was seeping into Kil’jaeden’s chambers. ‘ _There’s no use talking to him now’_ , he thought. _‘Hellfire, what am I supposed to do?’_ On impulse he began to cast, welling up strength to blast at Kil’jaeden in hopes of cauterizing his wound. But he took into account the Eredar’s situation, and realized he might actually kill him.

_‘…I know. Sleep.’_ Using the Nathrezim’s favoured tactic of putting enemies to sleep before slicing them apart, Galixus cast a spell of night upon Kil’jaeden’s head. Kil’jaeden had such high levels of resistance that it didn’t do shit, and instead he felt attacked… and retaliated. He whirled around, one hand on the floor and the other clutching at the air just before Galixus’s face. The blood around them both began to boil, frothing around Kil’jaeden protectively and burning Galixus’s skin off. Kil’jaeden couldn’t channel for very long, though, and Galixus’s own resistances worked in his favour as he pushed through the pain to stand properly.

“Stay here.” Galixus said. “I’ll get… help.”

“No…” Kil’jaeden gave a feeble whimper. “Uuuhnnn…” Whatever he was going to say next dissolved into a moan, and he clawed at the floor to try and keep his face up.

“Just calm down.” Galixus squatted, his knees aching like hell. “Ngh. Master, who did this to you?”

“Archi…monde…” Coughing, Kil’jaeden spat out blood. “Fffh… hhhh…” He struggled to breathe, his chest heaving with every attempt. All four of his tendrils trailed around in the mess on the floor, and he felt absolutely _disgusting_. At least his mind was returning to him after his uncontrollable panic, but with his mind came the emotions with plenty of reason behind them, too. And they spoke in Archimonde’s voice.

**_‘Look at you, crawling in filth like the dog that you are. Can’t even command your own servants or think straight. Destroy yourself. Feral, putrid thing.’_ **

He looked at Galixus. The Dreadlord’s eyes were narrow, lips pursed and face showing overall disdain.

**_‘He hates you. Look at how you’ve inconvenienced him. He has to clean all this, you know. You ingrate. He only serves you because he’s afraid. None of them would be here if they had a choice.’_ **

Galixus was only trying to keep himself stoic and professional, knowing emotional involvement would only make things worse. Kil’jaeden despaired, whining softly from the back of his throat. It hurt to speak. It _burned_. A few minutes passed until Kil’jaeden lowered his arms and brought them around his waist, hugging himself. His wings fell lifeless behind him, and his eyes were downcast, dull. Galixus took a step forwards. Kil’jaeden twitched.

“Don’t.” His voice was raspy, raw.

Galixus folded his hands behind his back. “I only wish to help you. I removed the corruption, see?” He indicated the sink with the piece of flesh in it. Kil’jaeden tried to stand, but his legs were weak and he slipped. Galixus offered him an arm, and after staring at it with an unreadable look on his face, Kil’jaeden took it. His face had turned an ashen grey, loss of blood taking the life from his skin and the energy out of his soul, too.

“My, you do not look well at all.” Galixus spoke softly, his voice deep and measured. “There. You’re alright, hold on to me.” He took Kil’jaeden out of the bathroom, bearing twice his own body weight until he set the Eredar down in bed. Kil’jaeden was still bleeding, and Galixus hastily cauterized his neck with a zap of magic. This startled Kil’jaeden out of his fade to unconsciousness, and he tensed his abdominal muscles to try and sit up. Galixus did not interfere, moving off to absorb the fel dirtying his body into a purer form of energy. It was how he cleaned things, after all. Kil’jaeden would be a different story, as he couldn’t absorb anything safely with his immune system so wrecked by Archimonde. He would need time to regenerate, and here on Argus in the safety of his own home it could be done without issue. Provided Archimonde did not interfere…

Galixus went in and out of the wardrobe, bringing Kil’jaeden a clean bit of cloth. He knelt beside the Eredar who watched him warily.

“Allow me.” said Galixus, raising the cloth to Kil’jaeden’s face. He dabbed at a pale cheek, then stroked down to clean the blood and sweat from his Master. Kil’jaeden allowed this with one eye open and faintly realized that the Dreadlord was _taking care of him_. Not dismissing, mocking or abandoning him. Galixus, with his thin and serious face scrunched in concentration, was being as gentle as any demon could. Kil’jaeden’s gaze drifted to the Dreadlord’s horns bobbing minutely before his face. Then to the space behind him. Galixus had no wings, something that distinguished him from the rest of his kin. It meant that he could wear finely tailored suits, but also that he could not fly on his own. Archimonde had ripped the wings from Galixus’s body many centuries ago before gifting him to Kil’jaeden. He had said, **‘Here. A servant that will not leave no matter how you treat him. Make good use of Galixus, for he is bound to this place.’** Galixus had been a mere child, only on the cusp of adolescence in the years of the Nathrezim. His parents had given him to Sargeras upon succumbing to the Fel, convinced that owning a child would distract them from faithfully serving the Dark Titan at all times. Galixus had ever been quiet and compliant until today.

Kil’jaeden focussed on his face. Now that his tendrils were being carefully cleaned, he found it difficult to concentrate. But at least it did not hurt. Not like when Archimonde touched him.

“Why do you bother?” he asked, furrowing his brows. “I can look after myself.”

“You may.” Galixus said tersely. “But it is my duty to assist.”

Kil’jaeden took his time collecting himself, regaining his composure as quickly as his poor mind could manage. He tried to scoff. Only a soft breath came out.

“You don’t really think I can look after myself, do you.”

“I do,” said Galixus, working the jewelry off Kil’jaeden’s tentacles and setting each piece aside. “for you are the most capable Eredar on Argus no matter what you are tasked with.”

“Doesn’t look like it.” Kil’jaeden muttered. His face felt cool and fresh now that Galixus had cleaned him up and the relief sank into his skin. “You could fully well behead me and seize your freedom.”

“And uproot the life I have come to enjoy? Hardly.” Galixus looked over Kil’jaeden and saw the fel eating away at his armor. “What would I do if I were not serving you, Master? Fight? Travel? Pah.” He reached to unpick the clasps of Kil’jaeden’s massive pauldrons, which had fallen askew. Kil’jaeden tensed, and Galixus paused. “I mean no disrespect.”  
“Mh… continue.” Kil’jaeden’s body was as taut as a tendon the entire time Galixus undressed him. Though anxious, he ended up nude and unharmed, just as vulnerable as he had been while clothed. The Dreadlord absorbed the coalesced energy on the cloth and now that it was clean again, set to wiping off Kil’jaeden’s chest and arms in gentle, caressing motions.

Kil’jaeden took an argumentative tone, anything to keep his mind off the way his body was starting to feel. “You cannot expect me to believe that you do not desire freedom. All slaves do.”

“What I desire doesn’t matter.” Galixus muttered.

“If I ask you, it does.” Kil’jaeden challenged. Galixus looked up at him with a moment of fire in his eyes and then bowed his head, but Kil’jaeden had _seen_ it. “Tell me what you want, Galixus.” Kil’jaeden’s respect for the Dreadlord could be heard in how he named him by name and not race. He waited.

“I want Lord Archimonde dead.” Galixus spoke hollowly, staring into his Master’s eyes. “Do what you will.”

Kil’jaeden raised his brows, breathed in, and then laughed. “Ahhhh hah ha ha ha! You think I will...“ He coughed, throat not yet prepared for such evil cackling. “Gahghk- torture you? Kill you for your _honesty_?”

“It is treason-”

“Oh, Galixus.” Kil’jaeden continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted by his lesser. “You continue to surprise me.”

Galixus shifted, moving to polish Kil’jaeden’s hooves and avoiding his lower waist entirely. “Mh.”

“You must have a death wish, speaking so openly.” Kil’jaeden raised his arms and stretched them, fatigue dropping them back to his sides immediately. “Tell me, care you so little for your life that you would admit your hatred of the Defiler to his comrade in arms?”

“He has hurt you,” Galixus said while making eye contact. “And me alike. It is not so unreasonable for us to share a degree of emotional expression.”

“Hmph.” Kil’jaeden shifted his wings in discomfort. He usually took forever to accept laying on his back, but barely had the strength to turn.

Galixus reached out.“May I?”

Kil’jaeden made a dismissive gesture, uncaring in the present moment, and Galixus helped him to lie on his face. The cleaning process continued for several minutes, and somehow Galixus had managed to completely relax Kil’jaeden’s anxiety-plagued body. As he massaged Kil’jaeden’s back, he eyed the wound at the Eredar’s neck. It looked just like someone had taken a bite out of a bright green sandwich that was coated in red skin. Fel had crusted over after Galixus’s healing attempt, and with time the flesh would grow back. He thought about what Archimonde would want with putting sigils on Kil’jaeden, but knew it was not his place to pry. He inspected Kil’jaeden’s segmented tail and was ever so tempted to touch it. He’d heard from Tichondrius however that it was not a good idea, and steeled his nerves. He was better than his impulses. He had to be.

~

“Do you wish for me to attend to your tail?” Galixus asked, knowing no Eredar could possibly feel decent with their own blood caked around their sensitive bits. Kil’jaeden groaned.

“Oh, I don’t care… do as you will.”

Galixus raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Kil’jaeden snapped as he hated being questioned. “Get on with it.”

“Very well, then.” Galixus picked up the end of Kil’jaeden’s tail and watched his reaction. The Eredar’s upper back muscles drew together, pulling his wings closer at the base. Slowly, he took the silvery band between finger and thumb and pulled it along. Kil’jaeden shivered, this time clenching his buttocks.

“My apologies, Master.” said Galixus in a respectful tone. “I know you are sensitive.”

Kil’jaeden made a thin whining sound in reply, seemingly incapable of more coherent speech. Galixus set to work wringing the cloth around Kil’jaeden’s tail to get the blood off, but some of it had dried quite near to the base.

_‘My, my…’_ Galixus thought as he lifted the tail and inspected the glowing green beneath it. _‘Archimonde would’ve had a field day with this.’_ There in the Deceiver’s most secret spot was something his tail had hidden for surprisingly long. A long, delicate opening sat right under his anus and Galixus was _sure_ male Eredar weren’t supposed to have these. Fire licked at the edges, an inviting warmth drawing Galixus’s fingers closer. He bent, leaning to inspect the little curiosity. Then he remembered his duty, and scrubbed diligently beneath Kil’jaeden’s tail. He did his best to ensure it was not irritated but soon enough Kil’jaeden started to squirm. Galixus paused, resting the cloth over Kil’jaeden’s warm slit.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Nnnghhh…” Kil’jaeden kept his tail up in the air and curled the tip into a question mark shape. Galixus blinked.

_‘Ah. He’s enjoying himself.’_ He picked the cloth back up and found it a little heavier. It was soaked in fel energy that seemed to be escaping Kil’jaeden’s body. Galixus tried to put it back, rubbing against the slick opening gently. Kil’jaeden spread his thighs and even more fel dripped out, a sharp and powerful scent to it.

“Master, your… energy is leaking. You need to conserve your strength.” Galixus kept the cloth pressed in place, hoping to stop the flow, but to his shock Kil’jaeden began to rub up against his hand. The Eredar turned his head, eyelids only letting a naughty sliver of light peek at Galixus.

“Don’t… tell Archimonde…” he murmured.

~

Kil’jaeden sat up, on his knees with a blanket falling around his hips. He’d fallen asleep while Galixus was attending to him, and…

“You.” He pointed to the Dreadlord who was sitting on the bed, looking professional and clean. “What was that?”

“What was what, Master?” Galixus tilted his head to the side, innocent.

“I… I dozed off. And I dreamed.”

“Did you have a vision?”

Kil’jaeden narrowed his eyes, moving to grab Galixus by the shoulder. Galixus stilled, his heart skipping a beat.

“You.. You Nathrezim can manipulate people’s dreams. I know that.”  
“You unduly find fault in me? I have done nothing of ill intent, and never will towards you, Master.” Galixus was sweating.

Kil’jaeden slipped his hand up to clench the side of the Dreadlord’s neck, thumb pressing against his throat.

“Don’t play coy. I saw that, all of it. You were… _fantasizing_ about me.” He spat, accusative. Galixus winced. He’d thought his mind guarded enough, but apparently not to the Deceiver’s standards. Kil’jaeden’s hand squeezed tighter. “You want to touch me like some… _consort_?! And here you had almost, ALMOST fooled me that you actually cared!” He withdrew his hand and then smacked Galixus across the face. To his shock, the Dreadlord blushed and lowered his head in submission. Galixus breathed in. Kil’jaeden snarled at him.

“What have you to say for yourself?!”

“…Will you punish me, Master?” Galixus didn’t dare look up. “I see I have upset you.”

“You’d probably enjoy that, you—you...!” Kil’jaeden screamed incoherently and shoved Galixus off the bed. “GET AWAY FROM ME!” He tugged the blankets up and wrapped himself in them, fel trickling down his face. Crying from stress and utterly sickened, Kil’jaeden wished he had never been written into this role. Fate was screwing with him, he just knew it.

_‘I was a fool to trust.’_

**_‘Of course he doesn’t want to help you, he wants to lure you into complacency and fuck your alternate form.’_ **

_‘…How did he… know…?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whisper* I N T E R S E X KIL'JAEDEN
> 
> oh btw, *Xuul xaal is the Eredun way of saying 'pish posh' or 'tomato tomahto' its a dismissive figure of speech basically


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a first hand account of Archimonde being an asshole

Illidan ached after his first class, unharmed but with muscles protesting from overuse. Slashing around wasn’t something he did often, and his arms were limp by his sides as he trudged over to Zaara. She stood in the shade, keeping away from the hot and dusty courtyard. Illidan looked up at her.

“What now?”

Zaara smirked. “Fifteen minutes break. Then amateur spellcraft. You hungry?”

Illidan nodded. He was lead (not carried) to a vast hall on the ground floor where demons crowded around various basins, consuming fel. Zaara pushed him forwards, leaving him to his own devices while she occupied herself elsewhere. Illidan had taken one step when someone crossed his path and stood in his way.

“Hey.” It was an Eredar with bluish-grey skin somewhat similar in appearance to Archimonde, though only thrice Illidan’s height. “Come with me.”

Illidan frowned, examining the guy with wary and tired eyes. “I don’t know you.” He tried to walk around but a thick tail smacked his shoulder and pushed him back.

“Now, now. I know you, certainly.” The Eredar spoke quickly, his eyes shifting about and fingers flexing. “Illidan, won’t you do me a favour for Lord Kil’jaeden?” He spoke the Deceiver’s name with great reverence, sighing as if it brought him pleasure. Illidan groaned.

“I don’t wanna. I’m hungry. Can you **move**?”

“Here.” The Eredar brought out a sandwich, which was meat between two slices of different colored other meats. “Food. Now, about-”

“Thanks!” Illidan snatched the sandwich and stuffed it in his mouth, sprinting out of the mess hall to where he hoped he could escape the stranger’s looming presence.

“OI!” Footsteps echoed behind him and he only ran faster, bolting down the corridor until he smacked into Zaara from behind. She turned swiftly with the intent of burning his face off, but saw who it was and sneered.

“Trouble already?”

Illidan clung to her leg and swallowed his food before he choked on it.

“There’s a scary guy chasing me!”

Zaara kicked him off, or at least tried to.

“You’ll have much worse to worry about if you keep defiling my ankle like that…” Her words died in her throat the second she laid eyes upon Illidan’s pursuer. “Oh. Hi, Netrezaar.” Suddenly she bent down and scraped Illidan up into her arms, his tiny claws raking the skin of her bare leg. Illidan whimpered, confused as to why he was now being held by someone who supposedly thought him a filthy little creature.

Netrezaar reigned his fury in, eyes glowing the colour of vomit and spinach as he glared at Illidan. Such a look was common among the lesser Eredar, and yes, they did exist.

“Hand him to me a moment. I have business with the child.”

“You think I’m stupid?” Zaara bounced Illidan up and down in her arms. He squeaked. “You’re probably going to lock yourselves in the broom closet and lick every inch of his weird purple skin.”

“Awaaaaaaaaaaaa!” Illidan shook his head violently, burying his face into Zaara’s chest. His horns poked into her breasts but she wasn’t all that concerned for the moment. Netrezaar was the real threat here, more so than a bit of disagreeable interaction.

“You won’t get your hands on him. Lord Kil’jaeden said-”

“What? What did he say?” Netrezaar lunged forth and grabbed Zaara’s shoulders, shaking her in a frenzy. “What did the Lord say about me?”

“Get away from me!” Zaara gave him a swift kick in the shin, tail lashing in agitation. “Fucker! I’ll tell him you’ve been pissing me off and he’ll pull your teeth out.”

“Oh~” Netrezaar staggered back, hand over his heart. “You think he’d actually _touch_ me? Ohoohoo~”

“Come on. We’re leaving.” said Zaara to Illidan, who she carried out of the building with haste. “Bloody hell.” They got under a bit of shade and Zaara sat on the ground, sweat trickling down her face. “That your first time meeting him?”

Illidan was crying softly, his face still stuffed into Zaara’s chest. She wanted to retch, but instead peeled Illidan away and put him on the ground.

“Oi. Kid.”

“Meweeeeehh…” Illidan covered his face with his hands. “I wanna go home.”

“Oh, come on.” Zaara clapped him around the side of his head, taking a tuft of his hair in her fist. “One guy creeps on you and you give up your entire education? You wouldn’t last a day as a woman.”

Illidan covered his head with his hands, curling into a ball. _‘They’re not supposed to hurt me…!’_

Zaara sighed. _‘I don’t get paid enough for this.’_

 

~

 

Around midday, Mannoroth made his way home after receiving an urgent summons from Archimonde. He was in a foul mood, having been just about to visit his favourite place on Argus when his Master called. He entered the Palace, face scrunched in obvious displeasure. Archimonde was nowhere to be seen. Mannoroth tracked his presence easily enough and got to the Eredar’s chambers, heavy footsteps announcing his arrival so there was no need to knock. A servant opened the door from inside and revealed Archimonde sitting provocatively upon his bed, completely nude save for a ring around his tail. Mannoroth nearly had a stroke, both from the sight and also having climbed all those damned stairs. Naked demons were one thing, but this…

Archimonde was not alone. Magtheridon, one of Mannoroth’s own Annihilan brethren, lay across the Eredar’s lap in a most relaxed sprawl. Mannoroth looked to Archimonde in confusion.

“What is this?”

“Oh, look who it is.” Archimonde spat, running his hand down the side of Magtheridon’s huge body. Magtheridon purred, a shit eating grin on his face as he cracked open an eye to glance at Mannoroth. All he could see on the older pitlord’s face was “ _WTF_ ”?

“About time you got here.” Archimonde began to monologue, something he was not really known for. “First you disappear without saying a word, you _avoid_ me the entire morning, and then I hear you’ve been gallivanting about with **Kil’jaeden**?!”

Mannoroth could feel the air getting heated. He folded his thick arms, perturbed. Magtheridon’s tail flicked about from time to time, Archimonde’s touch clearly satisfying him. There was even a ray of sunlight cast through the window to the left, making the scene picture perfect had it not been under these circumstances.

“You’ve betrayed me.” Archimonde said flatly. “You stupid creature. Don’t you know what you’ve done?”

“Betrayed you, apparently.” Mannoroth resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead looking confused and very, _very_ offended. “My Lord, I…”

“So it’s _Lord_ now? I am your MASTER!” Archimonde roared, smacking Magtheridon’s thigh in a fit of sudden rage. The pitlord mewled at that, squeezing all four of his legs together. “I have _needs_ , Mannoroth. How DARE you deny me?” Archimonde’s eyes gleamed with malice and had Mannoroth the courage, he would have exited there and then. But he knew the consequences of displeasing his Master. He was facing them right now.

“How was I supposed to know you required my presence without you telling me? Lord Kil’jaeden commanded me and I was in no position to refuse.” As the words tumbled from his tusked maw Mannoroth knew they were lost on Archimonde. This was a warlord he negotiated with, and a very angry one too. He’d have better luck trading blows with him. But he chose his battles on Argus wisely, and this was one he could not win.

Livid, Archimonde shoved Magtheridon out of his lap and climbed over him, sitting on the pitlord’s fat stomach. Magtheridon winced.

“You will submit to me for questioning.” Archimonde pointed at Mannoroth’s head, his index finger glowing green. “I _will_ know what you and that fool Kil’jaeden were up to behind my back.”

Mannoroth’s beady little eyes widened in shock. Fear raised his pulse and the spikes on his back stood taller. “Master-”

“SHUT IT!” Archimonde’s concentration broke and he threw the nearest available object (a dildo) at Mannoroth’s face. It hit him, and he grunted. Now Archimonde focussed, penetrating his lieutenant’s mind with all the force of will he could muster. Mannoroth was an excellent spellcaster in his own regard and knew more than most about defensive wards, especially those for secret-keeping. Archimonde felt resistance and pushed harder.

**_‘Submit or by all that is dark I will end you where you stand.’_ **

Mannoroth gave in, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. He didn’t want to test Archimonde or fight him. All he wanted was his privacy. Archimonde rifled through his brain carelessly, each passing second sending waves of shock pounding through Mannoroth’s skull. Magtheridon watched, both awed and sympathetic as Archimonde did his daily defiling.

 _‘ **Grahhhhh…!’** _ Archimonde wasn’t finding anything. He sought deeper and deeper for the answers that simply weren’t there, wracking Mannoroth with bodily pain now in stabs and pinches. The pitlord twitched, sinking to his knees and folding his legs under his body for comfort. Magtheridon knew this position well and eyed Archimonde, knowing he was going too far.

“Ohhhhh? What’s this?” Archimonde clenched his hand into a fist and held Mannoroth’s deepest desire in his mind’s eye. “You… hah! Unbelievable!”

Mannoroth groaned. His flames were dying down, casting weak light around his head.

“How pathetic. I give you the highest station in my army and all you can think of is to run back into the herd of your disgusting subspecies?”

Magtheridon listened, hurting after he’d just been fucked by Archimonde and made to feel wanted, unique, whole. Though he couldn’t see what the Defiler could, he had a fair idea of what Mannoroth wanted and it made his heart ache.

Mannoroth wanted to go home.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> messed up narrative pacing leads to ONE HECKIN BIG PLOT!!!

Illidan somehow made it through the day and arrived home just as the sun was setting behind the western mountains. Bathed in a soft green glow he wandered into Kil’jaeden’s chambers, finding it odd that the Eredar did not greet him after they’d been split apart for so many hours. Kil’jaeden was laying on his face, motionless.

“K’jay?” Illidan said in a small voice, approaching the bed with his hooves sinking into the black carpet. It had been replaced today, and he noticed but ignored it soon enough. “Ne… you’re sleeping early.”

Kil’jaeden shifted his wings, letting Illidan know that he was at least somewhat cognizant. _‘Control yourself. Think.’_ He had failed himself today, and vowed to keep himself together for Illidan. Rolling over, he sat on the edge of the bed with his tail looped over his thigh.

“Good afternoon. How was school?” He tilted his head to the left, light from outside catching his forehead plates with an impressive glint. Illidan could sense something was wrong but felt he had to answer before asking anything much. Kil’jaeden was influencing his mind again.

“Scary.” Illidan shuffled forwards and tried to climb in Kil’jaeden’s lap. The Eredar did not move. Illidan looked up, innocent eyes glistening wet. “K’jay?”

“Hm? What is it? Who frightened you?” Kil’jaeden sounded very far away. Illidan flapped his wings, pushing himself up into his guardian’s lap and displacing Kil’jaeden’s tail. Kil’jaeden sucked in a sharp breath, held it and then exhaled.

“A guy who looked like Archi… his name was Netrezaar, and he chased meeee.” Illidan whined softly, patting at Kil’jaeden’s bare chest. It was then that he noticed a smear of green, the colour drawing his eye to Kil’jaeden’s neck. He gasped. “What’s that?”

“Oh… one of the felhounds bit me.” Kil’jaeden lied. “Do not worry. I am alright, I just… do not feel well. Tired. Mm.”

“Uwaaaa…” Illidan cuddled Kil’jaeden for mutual comfort, wrapping both arms and wings around him as far as he could. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“No, no. It is fine. I have missed you dearly, Illidan. Tomorrow we can… speak further.” His eyes were closing. Alarmed, Illidan slid onto the bed and pulled Kil’jaeden away from the edge. He used all his strength to guide the Eredar into a laying position, something Kil’jaeden was all too eager to sink into. With wings spread beneath him, Kil’jaeden dozed off. Illidan was exhausted but could not sleep, not in his current state of paranoia. He sat on Kil’jaeden’s chest and watched the door.

_‘I don’t want any more surprises.’_

 

Come morning, Illidan was still awake with his head nearly in his lap, sleep clawing at his body. Kil’jaeden sat up and Illidan fell on his face with a squeak.

“Illidan?” Kil’jaeden tugged on the boy’s ankle to get his attention. “What are you doing there?”

“Watchin’.” Illidan whispered. “For stuff.”

“There’s no need for that.” Kil’jaeden hated to think Illidan feared something here, where he had done his best to ensure complete safety. “All is well. Get dressed, you don’t want to be late for school.”

Illidan turned around and gave Kil’jaeden the teariest look he could muster, batting his eyelashes at him.

“But K’jay…”

“You must.” Kil’jaeden wanted to talk to him but there really wasn’t the time. “By the will of Lord Sargeras, you must.” He exerted the strength of his mind to keep Illidan from rebelling, suppressing any defiance that dared to exist. Through his determination and scheming he delivered Illidan to the School of Slaughter on time, and went straight back to his room to hide. He managed to stay still for about one minute before realizing that this wasn’t him.

 _‘I should not have to fear anything in my own home. I am the Deceiver, the mightiest caster on Argus. Archimonde will not intimidate me like this… I will not allow it!’_ He rubbed at his neck uneasily.

**_‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’_ **

Doubt. There it was, swimming in Kil’jaeden’s head and sickening him to the core of his being. The urge to look around struck him with every corner he turned on the way to his study. His mind didn’t feel like his own, the voices of Archimonde and Velen ricocheting in an endless battle for control.

**‘ _Pathetic, fearful little thing. Submit.’_**

_ ‘Allow yourself to feel what you do, and the answers will come. Trust.’ _

Kil’jaeden threw open the door and stormed to his desk, wings blowing the door shut behind him and messing up documents pinned to the walls. He slumped down in his high leather chair and put his head in his hands, tugging at his hair.

 _‘Shut up… shut up… give me some fucking peace…!’_ The fel was gushing through his veins, urging him to tear and shred and destroy. Never before had his destructive impulses manifested like this, in something he could barely control. _‘What is happening to me?!’_ The influx of power was entirely unexpected and Kil’jaeden’s hands trembled, squeezing harder and harder until his skull began to ache from the pressure. He released himself only to grip the edges of his desk, which broke apart in his hands. He growled, vision wavering as the air heated up. _‘I have to do something… anything but this. Control… control… come on. I can.’_ He reached for the nearest book and focussed on the title, but it blurred together and smoke came from his fingers.

“Damn it!” He beat his wings, jumping over his desk and landing on the couch just opposite. Kil’jaeden heard one voice resounding throughout his head.

**_‘Kill something. Why are you resisting? You’re the tactician of the Burning Legion. Even you deserve some stress relief at the hands of your subordinates.’_ **

_‘This isn’t me. I’m not some mindless savage who slaughters entire armies for sport.’_ Kil’jaeden wasn’t as bloodthirsty as Archimonde or Mannoroth, and didn’t enjoy wanton genocide at all. He preferred the satisfaction of a long, intricate plot coming to fruition, having never needed immediate gratification before in his life. Now it seemed he did, and he was at a loss for how to achieve it. All he could think of was fire and damnation.

 _‘Fine. Fine, I’ll fucking do it. Go to some planet no-one cares about and annihilate a few cities.’_ He rationalized hastily to keep guilt from pinning him in place, and stood up. With his power overflowing he teleported to the topmost floor of the Palace, finding himself in the observatory. Here, star charts and solar systems swirled around the massive green holographic display on the ceiling. With a motion of one hand Kil’jaeden sought a planet with signs of life, noting the looming presence of Azeroth just out of reach. He paused.

 _‘Azeroth… but not **our** Azeroth. We have been focussing on this place from the wrong point in time…!’ _ He scraped up an information panel and began to divulge the contents of his mind, emptying out anxieties and calculations where they could be considered later. _‘Lord Sargeras tasked us with taking Illidan as a youth from this universe’s Azeroth, while frozen is the one we will deposit him into once changed. That means… this Azeroth is simply a thing to waste! A planet we have no use for. An entire world…’_

A softer voice spoke to him. _‘ Heartbreaking. All life is precious.’_

Kil’jaeden listened to it, and it was a musical, ancient thing with a hint of familiarity.

_‘No… life means nothing to the Burning Legion.’_

_‘ You are not the Legion, Kil’jaeden.’_

“…!” Kil’jaeden gasped, covering his mouth with one hand. He massaged his jaw in deep thought, eyes shining gold. His train of thought continued, emotions shoved aside. _‘We cannot stop time… thus Lord Sargeras must’ve anchored us to our target Azeroth in whatever other universe he’s prepared.’_ He knew Sargeras’s plans, of course, but this was the first time he’d really considered them. _‘If we have an anchor there, then all our efforts trying to contact Azeroth **here** … it is pointless! Why has he tasked us with this when we could so easily warp to the other timeline? And… where is he keeping his alternate Illidan?’_

Said ‘alternate Illidan’ of the third timeline was sitting in the deepest cells of the Palace, under watch night and day by Sargeras’s most trusted servants. Those he trusted more than Archimonde and Kil’jaeden were too weak to fight him, too stupid to betray him, and too afraid to do anything other than serve. They watched the adult night elf with unblinking eyes as he withered over the years, being fed and allowed rest but never spoken to, never touched. Pylons of fel energy zapped his head every waking minute of his life, slowly and carefully leeching his memories, thoughts and personality for the use of Sargeras. When little Illidan of Kil’jaeden’s teaching needed to replace his alternate counterpart, he would need to be able to accurately replicate his behaviour. He would be the seed of betrayal, destruction and death to all who would oppose the Legion on Azeroth, posing as a hero and turning everything upside down when the time was right.

_‘I… don’t need to put forth any effort on contacting this universe’s Azeroth. We will just skip timelines when necessary and all will be well. Hah! I have seen through your scheme, Sargeras. I will work overtime no longer.’_

Then a splitting pain shot through the front of his skull.

_-WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?-_

It was Sargeras. He had been watching Kil’jaeden’s revelation the whole time, and now pried open the Eredar’s head with invasive fingers. He saw every unguarded thought and consideration, every desire, every fear. Kil’jaeden fell to his knees, resisting with all his strength. But Sargeras was already in and wrought havoc in the most delicate, secret places Kil’jaeden treasured.

_-I SEE YOU HAVE WEAKNESS IN YOUR HEART FOR THE TRAITOR, VELEN. I EXPECTED BETTER FROM YOU, KIL’JAEDEN. YOU WOULD BETRAY ME?-_

“No… no… no…” Kil’jaeden chanted, his arms wrapped around his body, wings quivering. “I would not… never…”

 _-LOOK!-_ Sargeras forced a vision of Velen as radiant as he’d ever been right before Kil’jaeden’s eyes. Velen raised his slim fingers as if blessing, and then slid them between the clasps of his robes. Kil’jaeden quailed at the sight, Sargeras drinking in every reaction whether it was conscious or not. _–YOU FEEL FOR HIM! IT IS WEAKNESS! ERADICATE THIS. YOU WILL KILL HIM. YOU WILL FEEL NO MORE.-_ The image of Velen discarded his robes and stood nude before Kil’jaeden, wounds appearing on his pristine body. Blood obscured the lilac flesh and then bone was visible, a fel infused disease eating away at Velen’s skin. Antagonized, Kil’jaeden found himself nodding.

“Yes, my Lord. I will kill him. For the Legion.” Words spilled from his lips disjointed from his thoughts, and Kil’jaeden was aware of a sickening disconnect between his body and mind. It was as if his brain was split into two, that which he owned himself and that which Sargeras controlled. The latter seemed to be all that Kil’jaeden was aware of, but on a deeper level he _knew_ it was not him. He retched, even as Sargeras influenced him to crack a sick, toothy smile. “Kill… him…” he hissed, soul screaming in its cage. “Kill…”

 

(above: a pic I did of alternate Illidan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so dramatic lmao i love it


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (KJ is basically being puppeted by Sargeras at this point, with his emotional intensity dampened by the Dark Titan’s presence / influence. These are correctional measures.)

The next week went by as one of the longest Illidan could remember. Kil’jaeden was dismissive and busy every time he tried to make conversation, and few in the Palace would notice him. On the weekend Illidan didn’t have to attend school and so he went looking for Kil’jaeden, determined to steal his attention. He found the Eredar sitting outside, staring wide-eyed into a pile of burning corpses.

“K-K’jay?” Illidan ventured closer. Kil’jaeden stiffly turned his head.

“Hello, Illidan. What are you up to?”

“What are _you_?” Illidan shot back, not seeing anything particularly interesting.

“Just enjoying the scenery.” Kil’jaeden’s wings expanded slowly behind him, then drew back in as he breathed. “Do you need something?”

“K’jaaaaaay…” Illidan hesitated to climb into his lap for once, standing a few feet from him with hands wrung together. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” Kil’jaeden furrowed his brows and at last focussed on Illidan’s face. “You look like you have something to tell me.”

“I… learned some stuff at school…” Illidan hoped to impress.

“Ah!” Kil’jaeden brightened a tad, sitting up straighter. “You will demonstrate to me your new skills, then.” While this was going on, deep in Kil’jaeden’s soul his true self fought for control with his tainted mind. It was like trying to focus when starved and sleepless, moving through a thick barrier of acidic fel goop. His responses were stark, basic and uncaring and that was _not_ who he wanted to be in Illidan’s eyes.

_‘I want to see what he’s learned. I want to help him grow, to reach the height of his abilities and then extend into the Nether. If I could just… say… something!’_

Illidan concentrated on summoning a ball of flame, and held it in his hands for Kil’jaeden to see. “They asked me to burn someone’s face off, but I didn’t want to.”

“Whyever not?” Kil’jaeden conjured his own flame, bright and turbulent in his right hand. “The purpose of spellcraft is to destroy. Serving the Legion requires you inevitably to bring worlds to ruin. One life is just a starting point.”

“But… he didn’t do anything wrong.” Illidan shuffled his feet, the fire jumping from one hand to the other as he played with it. “Why would I hurt someone who didn’t hurt me?”

“Everyone will hurt you at some point.” Kil’jaeden said, dismissing his fire and folding his hands in his lap. “Even your closest friends. You just do not know when.”

“Uwaah…” Illidan didn’t like the sound of that and his flame fizzled out. “E-even you, K’jay?”

“NO.” Kil’jaeden’s voice came out more lively than it had been in the past few minutes, the moment of control filling him with urgency. “I will never, _ever_ hurt you. And if I do, you must know that it is not me. Others will try to control me, to make you lose faith. But I will always do my best for you, little one.”

Illidan thought for a few seconds, and then put his hands on Kil’jaeden’s knees. Conspiratorially, he whispered.

“Is someone controlling you, K’jay?”

“Yes,” Kil’jaeden breathed. He reached down and cupped Illidan’s face in both hands, earnest desire and fear in his eyes. “It is Sargeras. I cannot fight him for long. Please, Illidan, you must be strong for me.”

“Eeeh?” Illidan’s cheeks were squished up and he closed his eyes, letting Kil’jaeden touch him as he’d missed this, these moments of closeness that used to be so commonplace. “Lord Sargeras? But…”

“Please…” Kil’jaeden’s gaze faded to something much colder, distant and ethereal. He withdrew his touch, sitting up straight again. “Mm… you were showing me your spellwork?”

Illidan stepped back and looked at the ground. “Okay.” He demonstrated his control over felflame, his own power miniscule in comparison to Kil’jaeden’s. As such, he could not channel his spells for very long without tiring and soon his fingers drooped.

“Hm. It is good that you are not burning yourself there.” Kil’jaeden smiled thinly, false praise in his voice. Illidan didn’t fall for it but nodded, having learned the art of deference during the week. His instructors had lashed him for insolence no less than six times, and he corrected his behaviour as quickly as he could. When someone was upset, Illidan would do his best to diffuse what blame was placed on his head. Kil’jaeden did not seem all too impressed, and thus Illidan ceased trying any further. He’d done what he could.

_‘But it’s not good enough.’_

Kil’jaeden tilted his head to the side, tendrils swaying. “Is that all?”

“Well, I also remembered a few fighting stances.” Illidan switched between three, pretending to have a pair of swords on him.

“I cannot measure your form unless I see you in action.” Kil’jaeden stood and went to say something else, but Illidan saw it coming – the ‘ _why don’t you fight a seasoned veteran and show me what you can do?’_.

“Aah, K’jay, you can come and watch me at school, can’t you? We do lots of action towards the end of class, to practice our skills.” He tugged at Kil’jaeden’s finger, and when the Eredar didn’t look at him, he bit it. Kil’jaeden suddenly drew his hand back and swiped at Illidan, clipping one of the boy’s horns.

“Desist!”

“Waah!” Illidan cowered, the shock through his skull paltry compared to the emotional impact. “You… you said you wouldn’t hurt me!”

Inside, Kil’jaeden was tearing himself apart with guilt. _‘No, no, that wasn’t supposed to happen, I…’_ Sargeras was laughing in his head, exerting more and more control just to win this one situation.

“Hmph.” Kil’jaeden tossed his head to the right, gazing off into the distance. Majestic and detached, he gave rise to a thought in Illidan’s mind that he never would’ve of his own accord.

_‘I… don’t recognize you any more.’_

 

Sargeras could not pilot Kil’jaeden’s body all day, no matter how enjoyable it was. He did actually have things to do, people to kill, worlds to burn. He gave the Eredar a break that afternoon, and Kil’jaeden felt an overwhelming sense of relief as the foreign influence flooded out of him. He’d been standing to attention in the dark, crowded council room, staring at the holographic green globe hovering above the center of the table. It cast unholy green light on everyone’s faces while displaying the intricacies of Kalimdor’s geography.

“Hey, that island looks like a dick.” Mephistroth muttered to Anetheron, who giggled even as Tichondrius smacked the back of his head. This was the first thing Kil’jaeden heard and he slumped into his seat, blinking rapidly. Most of the council took this as a social cue to also sit down, but Archimonde turned swiftly and sneered.

“Something the matter, Deceiver?”

Kil’jaeden didn’t say anything, instead closing himself off with tented fingers before his face. He looked contemplative enough for the council’s light chatter to die down – the Great Deceiver needed his quiet thinking time and that was something everyone could respect. Archimonde didn’t give a shit but also saw the blunder in provoking him and sat too. Silence consumed the council in shadows and spookiness, making the present Dreadlords feel right at home. Anetheron grinned, pointing at a mountain on the globe.

“We should totally blow that up.”

“Is that all you think about, Anetheron? Blowing things?” Lord Kazzak, a fearsome red Doomguard, rolled his narrow green eyes. Anetheron exchanged looks with Mephistroth and then started cackling, smacking his hand on the table.

“Oh, Kazz! You’re such a comedian.” Then he became serious, lowering his head and peering from beneath his massive, curled horns. “You should resign.”

“Mrrgh.” Kazzak folded his arms and looked away, embarrassed. Beside him, Mannoroth groaned.

“Are we done yet?”

“Why?” Archimonde zeroed in on him, hands clenched into fists. “You have somewhere to be?”

Mannoroth gave him a pitiful look, the kind that said _you gotta be kidding me_. Archimonde pressed further, the veins in his neck sticking out.

“Too busy to spend time doing your actual job? Let me guess, you want to go and laze around in the sun and be useless, you fat fuck.”

Mannoroth looked away, tail drooping. “That was uncalled for.” he muttered. Due to the relative darkness of the room, his expression was unclear but his eyes gleamed wetly in the light of his flaming hair. Archimonde continued to taunt him as the council looked on, a mixture of emotions filling the air. Kil’jaeden began to feel increasingly awkward – this was the first time today he’d had a chance at mental stability and of course it was wasted here.

_‘Fucking Archimonde.’_ he thought, anger rising in a nice contrast to the nihilistic apathy he’d felt all morning. _‘He just doesn’t know when to quit. Had I the opportunity, I…’_ He became aware of eyes on his mind and shut down those thoughts at once. Constructing his wards, he became lost within himself on the search for the eavesdropper. As such, he paid no heed at all to the conversation. Archimonde stood irate for some reason and was jabbing a sharp finger in Mannoroth’s direction.

“You disgusting, good for nothing…” His tirade went on, and some of the more sadistic council members were having a giggle at the entertainment. Oh, how they loved to see Lord Archimonde in his fits! As long as they weren’t directly involved, it sure was one hell of a spectacle. Nobody dared to interrupt, the display of such wrath striking fear into the hearts of those that had them. Tichondrius remained quiet despite his love for Mannoroth, lest Archimonde’s fury fall upon him.

_‘Poor guy.’_ he thought with brows furrowed and lips drawn into a thin line. _‘He deserves much better. Simple creature, complex duties. Gah.’_

Mannoroth was doing his best not to listen or take any of the abuse to heart, but he did have his own sensitivities and Archimonde hit them over and over again. Every pitlord had a thing about weight, Mannoroth moreso due to his direct service to the ever-insulting Archimonde and also his magnificent stature. His people had chosen him as a leader for a reason, and it definitely wasn’t because he was a glass cannon. Strong, sturdy and powerful, Mannoroth had always taken pride in himself. And Archimonde had ruined it within a decade.

He turned away bodily from it all, torso twisted with arms wrapped around himself. The flames on his head crackled and spat. Mannoroth looked as defeated as he could without being actually dead.

“Pathetic.” Archimonde scoffed, and turned his attention to the globe. “I think we’ll test the temperature of the lava in that volcano by throwing you in. How many ships do you think we’ll need, Kil’jaeden?” He nudged the seated Eredar beside him, hoping to get a rise. Kil’jaeden said nothing.

“Are you even listening?” Archimonde plastered his hand to the table and leaned over, tendrils swinging in front of Kil’jaeden’s face. There was no response. Kil’jaeden had fallen asleep.

“He must be tired.” said Highlord Kruul, clicking his fingers to brighten the room. Felflame braziers lit up all around. “I think we should leave things here, don’t you? It’s about time for a snack.” He picked up the nearest scamp, one that had been etching rude symbols into his hoof, and stuffed it in his mouth. Archimonde gaped at him, shocked that he’d just missed his chance to socially humiliate Kil’jaeden. Kruul didn’t seem to care, and politely crunched on the scamp.

“Dismissed! Hell yeah.” Anetheron high fived Mephistroth and slapped Tichondrius on the ass. “C’mon lads, let’s go read some fanfiction.” The Dreadlords exited, and the council began to disperse. Kil’jaeden remained where he sat, unblinking.

“Grrrrrrr…” Archimonde had seen him like this before, and he was unwakable when in this trancelike state. He looked towards Mannoroth in hopes of pestering him some more, but the pitlord was gone. “Oh, unbelievable…!” Archimonde stomped his hooves, the floor cracking beneath him. He sprinted out of the room with tail swishing aggressively as he hoped to catch up to Mannoroth, bloodlust activated.

Mannoroth was under the table. He’d somehow managed, through use of magic and sheer willpower, to [flatten himself](http://www.allawesomethings.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/flatcat.jpg) so Archimonde couldn’t see him. Kil’jaeden couldn’t either, and when he got up to leave he felt a bit disoriented at suddenly finding himself alone. After a few minutes Illidan came in, looking for Kil’jaeden who he’d just missed. Then he saw it. A thick tail, then two legs, and a butt.

“Huh?” Due to his height, he could see beneath the table better than any of the oversized demons. Mannoroth stiffened as Illidan crawled under there with him and nudged at his face. “Hey, what are you doing under…” Illidan paused, seeing fel smears on Mannoroth’s cheeks. The pitlord looked sadder than Illidan had ever seen him, and Mannoroth was usually either grumpy or neutral. Illidan curled up beside him, placing a hand on his nose. “What’s wrong?”

Mannoroth blinked heavily, fel seeping through his eyelids and making a _chhhhh_ sound. He looked away, ashamed. Illidan petted him gently.

“Manno?”

The pitlord growled, resting his face against the ground. His tusks prevented him from achieving true relaxation but he had enough neck meat to stay comfortable. Illidan decided to keep him company and rested with his face in Mannoroth’s neck, an arm around his shoulder. The flames didn’t burn him, rather they warmed his face and crackled softly. Mannoroth thought to himself as he lay here under the table, the Lieutenant of the Burning Legion being comforted by a child.

_‘He’s right about you. Nobody respects you any more, see how they mock you the first chance they get? It’s not like it was back on Nihilam. They don’t understand, these hoofed bastards, thinking they’re better than everyone else. It’s all deception and fuckery, trauma and woe.’_  He sniffled, causing Illidan to hug him tighter and offer some more nice pats. _‘Oh… this annoying little thing seems to be fond of me. Pah, he will be one of them soon enough. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I can change anything. I just wish Lord Archimonde would not make me… suffer so.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Ok so I had an idea for an alternate version of this scene, where Archimonde got to the point where he’d threaten to humiliate Mannoroth in front of the council. Like, bodily. Game of Thrones style. And Mannoroth would contact Archimonde’s mind like /please don’t. I serve as your lieutenant, none will listen to me on the battlefield if you do this to me/. And Archimonde just starts laughing, having the time of his life as he tells the council “Oh, you should hear how he’s begging me! Right here,” he taps the side of his head “/Please Master, have mercy! Please, no! Don’t!/ Ahahahahha!”  
> So anyway. Archimonde does a heckin noncon. And Mannoroth is like ‘I guess I’ll die’.  
> Reason I didn’t write that in was because there’s been a lot of heavy stuff in the past few chapters and GOOD LORD I need to lighten it up. I’m still learning how to do narrative pacing (I edit my work as I go, I never look back.) )  
> xD


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ye olde setup/filler chapter combo. *continues character building all the way home*

A few days later, Illidan had just finished a spellwork class and was wandering around on his lunch break. He held a cup of steaming fel in his left hand and took up his hobby of people-watching, missing his favourite companion Kil’jaeden. Out in the front yard there were scores of demons going about their own business, little cliques here and there plus a few bigger ones looking quite threatening alone. Illidan did not know anyone, and kept in mind his guardian’s words.

_Everyone will hurt you at some point._

His hooves kicked up mineral dust as he made his way across the parched, dead ground. People had died here from explosions, curses and good old fashioned pummelings. Faded bloodstains drew his eye around the side of the school building and without knowing where he was going, he followed them into darkness. A looming overhang from the floor above shadowed a private space that Illidan edged towards carefully. It was the back of a minor armory next to an unused wall, fel scratchings glowing here and there spelling out simple words.

_Freedom. Knowledge. Truth._

He breathed in, raising his drink to his lips and then casting the empty cup aside. Twice he rapped his knuckles against the iron wall of the armory, checking for signs of life. All he saw was endless dark, stretching on and on and on. It was just a gap between the two buildings – but something was _in there_. Illidan became aware of a crushing silence, the sounds of the courtyard far behind him. He turned around. There was the way he’d come. He turned back towards the void and followed it.

_‘If there’s danger, I’ll just go back. I’ll be fine. I wonder what’s through here?’_ His heart beat in his ears, pulsed in the pit of his stomach and churned his lunch as he proceeded. But it wasn’t his own body doing that. There was a rhythm of sorts causing the walls, solid metal, to breathe in and out. Illidan felt the synchronity with his very life force just moments before he was swallowed into the dark. He gasped, chest squeezing and then all was calm. He stepped onto a platform of black iron, skulls adorning the six points around it. Menacing pillars inset with chipped green crystals lined a path forwards, and Illidan could hear echoing voices in the distance. He followed them, hooves clicking against the hollow path. Before he could pass through the tall archway at the end, he was intercepted by none other than Zaara. She wore the same two piece suit she always did, and shot Illidan a sharp look.

“You don’t belong here, kid.”

Illidan stared up at her, confused and quite offended. “What do you mean? I just found this place accidentally.”

“That’s what they all say.” She put a hand on his shoulder to guide him away but Illidan jerked backwards and raised both hands, claws out. Zaara tilted her head to the side, a little smile curving her full lips. “Oh? What’s this? You wanna fight?”

Illidan growled, a precious little hissing and rumbling sound melted together. “I wanna see what’s over there!”

“It’s the Honors program, and let me guess, the golden boy wants in? They’d wipe the floor with you and wear your skull as a hat.”

Illidan’s fists trembled, and he got into an aggressive stance. But Zaara only laughed and fire danced around her fingers, embers floating in the air.

“You wouldn’t stand a chance. And it’s my duty to keep you from getting yourself killed, so bugger off.”

“I thought you were my friend.” said Illidan, pouting so hard he pulled a muscle in his face.

“What’s the matter kid, you having a stroke?” Zaara shook her head. “Don’t try that emotional bullshit on me. I’m a career woman, not your mother.” She held her heat for the time being, standing her ground. “You can’t have misheard me with ears like those. Scram.”

Illidan’s long, pointy ears drooped as did his expression. He knew he couldn’t fight her, and apparently she was beyond emotional manipulation, too. At odds with his skills, he wished Kil’jaeden was here to help him get what he wanted.

“I’ll be back.” he said sullenly, and turned around. He walked right into a portal Zaara whipped up and found himself in the courtyard, smack bang in the center of a dirt ring. Six Eredar were gathered around the outside of the ring and they shouted at Illidan to get out. Illidan scampered to the edge and stood beside one of them.

“What are you guys doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Vendaallius replied. “Jed’hin.”

Khail, one of the other Eredar, approached with his chin raised. “Not obvious to an outsider like him. Look at his little face. He’s not one of us.”

“What’s wrong with my face?!” Illidan tugged at his own cheeks, scraping his claws against the soft flesh. “You’re the ones standing around looking like aliens.”

The two Eredar exchanged glances, and narrowed their cold green eyes in unison.

“You see anyone else around here with floppy ears and purple skin?” Khail leaned down, tendrils swaying ominously. “Thought not. Get lost.”

“Eat shit.” Illidan spat back, and threw a searing spell (with rocks!) right into Khail’s face. It got him in the eye and he screamed, clutching his face. Vendaallius sprang to knock Illidan to the ground but the smaller demon was too fast for him and evaded. Illidan saw this as a good time to make his escape and sprinted off, the rush through his body pushing all thoughts of curiosity and determination aside. All he wanted to do now was run.

 

~

 

As the day wore on, Kil’jaeden was barely aware of the time slipping by. With Sargeras in his head, he had to fight for consciousness and struggle to pilot the body he’d been born into. It was so much easier to let the Dark Titan control him when he had nothing personal to do. It was only when Illidan was near that Kil’jaeden preferred to be himself… and that was the time Sargeras often chose to check in and seize him. At present, it was a little after midday and the sun boiled in the sky. Within the palace Kil’jaeden felt lonesome and bored, Sargeras leaving him to his own devices after hours of pain. He wished for nothing more than a nice stroll in the Palace’s gardens now, and made his way through the front doors. He took a single step and met resistance in the form of a tall, menacing blue Eredar body.

“?” He squinted. Those brilliant, cruel eyes and arrogant stance… _‘Oh, no. Not you again.’_

“Don’t just gawk at me, Kil’jaeden.” Prince Malchezaar folded his thick arms, his escorts staring at the Deceiver with pleading eyes.

“Hello, your Highness.” Kil’jaeden said flatly, wings drooping. “What do you need?”

“Access.” Malchezaar pushed past Kil’jaeden, or at least he tried to as if he owned the Palace instead of Sargeras. “Excuse me!”

Kil’jaeden grit his teeth and made an obvious step to one side, letting Malchezaar know that he wasn’t strong enough to push the Great Deceiver anywhere. Malchezaar scoffed, rolling his sour green eyes.

“Pah. The things I have to do to get noticed around here!”  
“You never attend our meetings on time.” Kil’jaeden flexed his fingers, digging holes in his pockets. “Forgive-”

“I rarely have _time_ to attend that incoherent farce you consider meetings.” Flicking at a tentacle, Malchezaar seemed agitated as if he assumed nothing would ever go his way and it was Kil’jaeden’s fault. “Honestly! You lot should consider my schedule and arrange things better.”

“I really don’t care.” Kil’jaeden said with a heavy, apathetic sigh. “If you want to stand here and complain, be someone else’s guest. I have places to be.”

“Wh-” Malchezaar quivered, squaring his shoulders in indignation. “You _dare_ to treat me as your lesser? Simple fool, you barely have the strength to bow, just look at you-”

Kil’jaeden suddenly flared his wings wide open and forced a blast of energy towards Malchezaar’s forehead, palm nearly touching it. The vexed Eredar began to sweat from the immense heat, teeth grit.

“Remember your place.” Kil’jaeden growled. Darkness ringed his eyes and there was no patience in his voice at all. A thought crossed his mind that the media must be slandering him something awful if _Malchezaar_ was saying this sort of thing to him. _‘I look plenty strong. I could crush his throat no matter how exhausted I am…’_

“Bhee!” Malchezaar twisted his face away, taking a slow step towards the throneroom. With his back turned to Kil’jaeden he spat, tail lashing furiously. “At least Velen understood how to respect royalty!”

The life drained from Kil’jaeden’s face, his magic fizzling out of his fingers.

“You _DARE_ speak that name to me?!” His hooves clattered against the tiles as he leapt forth and tackled Malchezaar to the ground. “YOU DARE SPEAK OF **VELEN**?”

“Gah! Get off me, you savage!” Malchezaar cried out, a crimson fist smashing into his forehead. “Aieeee!” Too proud to call for help, he began erecting defensive wards but Kil’jaeden’s raw fury sank talons of agony into his mind.

**_“PAIN.”_** Kil’jaeden spoke a single word of shadowy power and Malchezaar clutched his head, screaming. **_“PAIN!”_** he said again, the fire spreading down Malchezaar’s body. **_“DEATH!!!”_**

Malchezzar wailed helplessly, blood erupting from his shredded throat. His eyes bulged out of his face, mouth agape and spewing hoarse, choked pleas.

“Ghhk…gkk… s..stop… it…” Fel trickled from his nose, mingling with tears and the rest of his blood. He’d barely had a chance to fight back – Kil’jaeden had dug his claws in deep. There was a raw nerve in Kil’jaeden’s guarded mind, and it was indeed named _Velen_.

Malchezaar was left in a messy heap on the floor, Kil’jaeden teleporting away the moment he could stand and cast. The doomguards at the door averted their eyes.

 

Kil’jaeden slumped at the edge of Bloodboil Lake, shoulders hunched and tail sweeping up dust from side to side.

_‘I can’t believe it. Of all things, he had to bring up Velen…’_ Absently he conjured up rocks and pelted the lake in frustration. _‘Fucking… damn it.’_ He missed his old friend. For millenia he’d tried to hate him, he really had. But at the core of his being was a deep love for the now exiled prophet, something so pure and incorruptible that not even Sargeras could touch it. All he could do was posture. It hurt Kil’jaeden to even think about letting himself feel that forbidden love, to stop forcing himself to hate the distant paragon of virtue. For to feel meant to accept that Velen was gone, and any chance at reconciliation would mean betrayal and possibly death.

_‘He’s ruined everything.’_ Kil’jaeden mouthed the words to a basic portal spell. He’d run out of rocks to throw and now summoned imps, ripping their heads off with a flick of his wrist and casting them into the lake. _‘That accursed Sargeras…’_

Kil’jaeden looked around, closed his portal and unpicked the clasps of his robe. He sank into the yellow-green lake, his wings spreading out behind him.

_‘Oh, Velen…’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can use your imagination to fill in what Kil'jaeden does at the end of this scene ;) lil bit of open ended keks


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BIG HECKIN' /PLOT/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (NSFW warning. You’ll know it when you see it, it’s skippable if its too raw n’ dirty for ya ;) )   
>  

 

A month passed. Illidan had been succeeding in school through fear and willpower, being told every single day that failure was unacceptable. Perfection was reinforced by the nine ends of a leather whip, and the instructors at the School of Slaughter didn’t seem to realize that shocking pain broke valuable concentration. Illidan adopted a certain mentality to cope with this – he sat up straighter when lashed, eyes to his books, and told himself ‘ _Right, that’s over with. Now, what was I reading…?’_ He saw others trembling, struggling to hold their writing implements and even cast the most basic of spells. The instructors would humiliate such students, leading to further failure and incompetence from a fractured mental state. Illidan studied diligently, ever aware of those around him while paying half a mind to his work. On breaks he read seriously, alone and able to absorb as much information as he wished without the threat of undeserved punishment at his back.

_‘This is a much better way to learn.’_ he thought to himself while poring over a tome he’d stolen from the school library. _‘The instructors are stupid. They couldn’t teach me anything better than these books.’_ Illidan understood however that he had to play along in order to have access to more advanced materials, and so he did his very best to endure the austere conditions. It was getting to him bit by bit, though. The constant reminder that Lord Sargeras was supreme, that life was worthless, and that the weak would be culled. Every day. _Kill the weak. Uphold the strong. In Sargeras’s name. Kill._

Illidan actually did enjoy learning new things, as he was motivated not by fear but with an intrinsic desire to become stronger. Kil’jaeden had planted this in him from the beginning, rooting it deep amongst Illidan’s core values and nurturing it at every chance. Strength was beauty, glory, goodness. It was to be loved, validated, appreciated. Weakness was not. And so Illidan strove to become the best spellcaster he could possibly be, working in the image of his beloved guardian Kil’jaeden. The kindest of all on Argus in his opinion, he admired the Deceiver greatly. And how could he not? Kil’jaeden had had fingers in his mind from the beginning. Illidan knew nothing other than what Kil’jaeden wanted him to. And by extension, Sargeras’s will was done.

 

Kil’jaeden had been suffering, as had everyone else in the Palace. Archimonde acted out more frequently these days, agitated with nothing to fight and turning on his subordinates to sate his bloodlust. Mannoroth shared this bloodlust, the fel having cursed him with it to debilitating levels. And Archimonde had denied him an outlet, rationalizing that _if I can’t go out and fight, nobody else can either._ He forbade Mannoroth from engaging in combat, hexing him with fatigue and listlessness under the guise of ‘keeping him in top shape for when he was needed in a REAL battle’. The pitlord was miserable, and spent his days laying in front of whatever window had a scant ray of sun for him to catch. Urges to maim and slice and decimate prickled in his mind at every waking hour, but Archimonde’s control prevented him from finding relief.

_‘Kill me…’_ he thought, flattening himself on the warm tiles near the throneroom. _‘This isn’t what I signed up for.’_ Time would pass, and little would change – but Mannoroth was conserving his energy day by day. What the hex sucked out of him was constant, but it wasn’t enough to deplete him to the point of unconsciousness. By having life’s necessities brought to him by the servants who were still loyal, he built up enough resources to escape Archimonde’s tyranny one dark night.

Mannoroth managed to slip away from the Palace, teleporting himself far away from the oppressive environment. He went to the only place on Argus he could feel at peace, the Annihilan Pits. Jagged cliffs rose around the deep basin formed by an ancient meteor long ago. Deep pools of fel bubbled around the central island of black rock, while cascading energy poured over the cliffs and splashed down below. There was a greyish-green mist high up in the air, obscuring sight of the pits from above. And the only ones allowed down here were the Annihilan and those who adored them. Fanatical Eredar no bigger than a pitlord’s forearm stood about polishing tusks, prostrating themselves and serving various needs. Mannoroth noticed a few tiny marsuul scampering about his feet as he approached the gap in the cliffs. The spiny creatures were seldom seen in the more densely populated parts of Argus, being smart enough to avoid the city of sadistic demons who would make a game out of tearing them apart. Mannoroth thought they were somewhat cute, with their beady black eyes and huge noses. He stepped into the pits and was immediately attended to by three fanatics, their green eyes shining with blind worship.

“Lord Mannoroth! Oh, it’s been so long!”

“Where’ve you been? Can we get you anything?”

The last of them just clutched his hand to his chest and squealed. Mannoroth inclined his head, spreading his wings open.

“Ahh… you, come here. I could use a massage.” He beckoned to the first of the Eredar, who did a little fist pump and climbed onto Mannoroth’s back. Firm hands worked at the base of stiff wings, their touch reverent. The ground trembled frequently as colossal pit lords went about their daily business, but Mannoroth felt an earthquake approaching before he saw who it was running to him.

“Brother!” Magrazoth was one of his oldest friends, and sprinted to nearly crash into Mannoroth with arms outstretched. Flames danced around her head, trailing down her spine to the tip of her thick tail. “I thought you would never come back.”

“Lord Archimonde has kept me busy.” Mannoroth said, embracing his sister and clicking tusks with her in a traditional, affectionate greeting. They weren’t actually related by blood, but all Annihilan considered each other as family here on Argus. Magrazoth squeezed his upper body and pulled back, patting her black clawed hands all over him.

“You’ve gotten so _skinny_! Oh, that Lord of yours doesn’t look after you at all! Come, come. You must drink something.” Magrazoth fussed about, tugging Mannoroth towards a felfall with all due haste. There was little resistance, and Mannoroth stuck his face into the liquid as if he’d been starving for years. Slowly he became invigorated, his ancient bloodlust stirring as he drank what was essentially the life force of the Legion. Magrazoth encouraged him, gently patting his stomach.

“There… much better.” She glanced to the Eredar on her brother’s back, who was dutifully kneading Mannoroth’s muscles. The Eredar grinned at her, bowing his head. Mannoroth’s appetite was a thing of legend – everyone knew that to sustain such a fine fighting form, he had to frequently gorge himself on the blood of his enemies. Magrazoth wondered why Mannoroth looked so disheveled now, as if he’d hadn’t enjoyed a good battle in ages.

“Brother…” she murmured, giving Mannoroth a light squeeze. “What news?”

Mannoroth took a few steps back, tusks dripping with fel. He looked thoroughly sated and sat down with all four legs tucked under his body [(like this)](http://cdn6.viralscape.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Catloaf-18.jpg). Licking his lips, he sighed.

“Lord Archimonde has assigned me backup duty on our next conquest. He has forbidden me from fighting until I am called upon. Can you believe it? Me, his finest Lieutenant, forced into a mere standby position.”

“Oh, you poor thing…” Magrazoth sat beside him, wrapping her arms around his upper waist. “That must be absolute torment.”

“It is.” Mannoroth growled. “I’ve been so hungry…”

“You can drink all you like here.” said Magrazoth, reaching to cup some fel and bring it to Mannoroth’s face. He lapped at it, a deep rumbling sound coming from within his chest. He didn’t even care that he was making a mess and purring with the force of a thousand marching doomguards. For once, he could _relax_ without Archimonde breathing down his neck for some inane reason. He allowed Magrazoth to look after him, wings spreading out as all tension ebbed away.

“Mmmnnnnn….” That Eredar on his back really knew what he was doing. Mannoroth groaned, melting a little into the ground. It brought a sense of pride to Magrazoth seeing her beloved friend like this, knowing that he often didn’t get a chance to take care of himself. Archimonde was known for being the guy that worked his underlings to death, only the strongest allowed to survive. And Mannoroth was nothing if not strong. Magrazoth resented the idea that anyone _dared_ take advantage of the menacing pitlord before her, but kept that to herself. No matter how secure the Annihilan Pits were, blasphemy against anyone higher ranked was punishable by death. That included saying “Boy, Lord Archimonde sure is a cunt.”

“You should come here more often.” said Magrazoth, wiping fel from Mannoroth’s chest and stomach with her fingers and licking them. “Let me look after you a bit… spend time with your family.”

“I can’t…” Mannoroth drew his brows together, lips pursed. “Lord Archi…monde… he…”

“To Void with him.” Magrazoth hissed under her breath, so soft that it was for her brother’s ears only. Mannoroth opened one eye, questioning. “He’s so cruel to you. Don’t think I can’t see through that illusion of yours.” Magrazoth’s left hand came to the top of Mannoroth’s head, stroking ever so gently down the scarred side. Fel smeared there and seeped in, aiding the healing process. Archimonde had kicked Mannoroth in frustration the other day, and Mannoroth had no choice but to accept it. A bit of his skull had cracked, poking through his skin. Mannoroth felt a lot less pain now as Magrazoth touched him, her soft fingers tracing his muscles.

“Your kindness is unbecoming of a servant of the Legion.” Mannoroth warned, gesturing with his wings for the Eredar to give them some privacy. Once the two Annihilan were alone, Mannoroth continued in a serious tone. “I fear-”

“Hush, you. The Great Destructor fears nothing.” Magrazoth put a finger to his lips, staring into his eyes. She knew just how serious this was, how her personality could be considered weakness in the eyes of their leaders. But they could not see her so long as she willed it, and after surviving this long she had no intention of bowing. All she cared for was the preservation of their culture, maintaining this bastion of Nihilam here on Argus, and Mannoroth. He’d started nibbling her finger, and paused in thought.

“…You tempt me, you know.”

“I know fully well.” Magrazoth swished her tail to the right, touching Mannoroth’s which wagged from side to side. “If you like, there’s a nice wide cave that’s been recently excavated…” She stroked his tail with her own, rubbing up against his flank. Mannoroth averted his eyes, bashful.

“I… shouldn’t. Lord Archimonde has forbidden me from exerting my power.”

“What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. It’s not like he’s Kil’jaeden with eyes up your ass.” Magrazoth’s disdain for Archimonde grew every time he was mentioned. Mannoroth gave her a sharp look.

“Nothing’s going up my ass, mind you.”

“Of course, of course.” Magrazoth tittered, adjusting herself. Pit lords could change their primary and secondary sexual characteristics at will, usually to fit their reproductive or recreational needs. Magrazoth enjoyed a combination of both, while Mannoroth wore a form that left him the least amount of physical weak points as possible. He did change himself now, sensing the changes Magrazoth developed and complementing them with his own. Once they were both in the cave, a vast and dark space, Magrazoth’s flames illuminated Mannoroth’s underside as she inspected him.

“Ooh~!” she giggled, light flickering around the interesting new protrusion. “Planning to rip me in half?”

“Magra…” Nothing excited Mannoroth more than a bit of violent talk other than actual bloodletting. Magrazoth swayed her hindquarters as she went past Mannoroth, flesh rippling in a most delightful manner. She bent over, lifting her tail.

“C’mon. _Destroy me_.”

Mannoroth gripped Magrazoth’s haunches, digging his claws in. Molten fire spilled from where the skin split and Magrazoth cried out, arching her back. This raised her ass just enough for Mannoroth to get a look at her cunt, a lovely lush slit dripping with fel energy and just waiting for him. He grinned at the sight and began to climb on her, hands gripping the spikes supported by her strong spine. She flattened her wings in submission, allowing Mannoroth to get his forelegs around her sides while his thick arms could reach around her upper body. He scraped the back of her neck with his long, curving tusks, breath hot and heavy as he sighed. Mannoroth hadn’t mounted anyone in millenia, but still had the primal instinct within him. His massive, ridged cock rubbed against Magrazoth’s tender hole and slipped right in. It was like fucking a furnace, due to their kind’s natural body heat being enough to melt steel. Magrazoth wailed, spreading her hind legs to open herself further. It was a good thing she was so slick, as Mannoroth would have torn her inside otherwise.

“Urgh.” Mannoroth grunted, head down with his hands on her shoulders. “You won’t be walking for a month.”

“Good.” Magrazoth replied, followed by a shallow gasp. She had to brace herself against the cave wall as the sheer force of Mannoroth’s thrusts was inching her forwards despite her weighing some twenty thousand pounds. He was using the full strength of his body, bestial aggression fueling his lusty assault. Magrazoth lost herself in the motions, panting against the rock that her face lay flat against. Her tail was flattened under Mannoroth’s stomach and every time he moved, it stimulated the sensitive underside.

“Nh, Mann,” she whispered, barely able to breathe. “Harder. I can t-take it.”

“Rrrrgh!” Mannoroth squeezed her soft chest, dragging his nails down the flesh and rending it in four places. The resulting cry of anguish only aroused him further, and he did it again, lower.

“Yessss…” Magrazoth flexed the walls of her scorching cunt, eyes rolling back in her head. “Just like that. Breed me, brother…”

“Fuckin’ will.” Mannoroth drew his claws up and over one fine shoulder, licking up the blood that spilled. “Gh, you taste glorious.”

Magrazoth blushed darkly and started meeting Mannoroth’s thrusts, having gotten a good feel for his rhythm. He fucked her deeper, hammering away at one particular bundle of nerves inside her body that stoked her flames. Fire licked at his cock, searing his heavy balls. Fel was pooling beneath where he and his lover joined, burning away some of the floor. Mannoroth was thumping his long tail into the goopy mess and couldn’t care less – for he was having the time of his life. They went at it for hours, Annihilan stamina not something to be scoffed at, and by the end of their coupling it was well into the next day’s morning.

Mannoroth snoozed with his face in Magrazoth’s chest, laying on his side. Magrazoth wasn’t asleep just yet, but gazed at Mannoroth whilst petting his exposed flank. There was a curious warmth in the pit of her stomach that was most likely residual fel from Mannoroth’s intense nutblast, but in her heart she hoped it was something more. She had asked, after all.


	20. Chapter 20

Illidan sat in the mess hall one day at the end of a long black bench, waiting for his turn to drink. As the smallest guy around, he was at the bottom of the pecking order when it came to consuming that glorious green goop. As the smallest guy around… he was also unnoticeable as he eavesdropped on the conversation beside him. A Felguard sat next to a Gan’arg and Mo’arg pair, with a snooty Eredar on the other side. The Gan’arg was fiddling with a multicolored cube, muttering under his breath.

“I don’t git it, why ain’t we fightin’ yet? S’ been ages since we done killed somethin meaningful.”

“Whadda you know about meaningful?” said the Mo’arg, cracking his knuckles out of frustration. “Nothing we do matters, ya screwhead. But something’s up, I’ll give ya that.”

“It’s pissing me off.” the Felguard admitted. “We get the slightest bloody glimpses of this “Azeroth” and not a single official word! I wish these info leaks never existed. It’s taunting us, you know?”

“Well obviously,” said the Eredar, playing with the golden ring around his index finger “You lot wouldn’t know the _real_ details.”

All three (four including Illidan) looked towards him, the Eredar who went by the name of Razuun.

“You don’t deserve to know because you’re all utterly useless low-class trash.” Razuun scoffed, tossing his head in a most dismissive manner. “Only good enough to be cannon fodder.”

Tzerak the Felguard grit his teeth. His race was known to be first into battle, forming the vanguard of almost every assault. He pointed an accusing finger at Razuun.

“This ‘low-class trash’ is the only reason you talbuk fuckers are still alive, casting your fancy spells out of harm’s way.”

Razuun rose from the bench and his eyes flickered with hatred, a curse on his lips.

“S̞͇̲̩͍̥̭̲̬͋̈́̅̆̊̆̅A̢̻͓̭̮͗́̓͒̆̄͐̚͡M̶̢̙̮̤̳̥̫͙̾̀͆͠͠P͔̤͎̝̝͓̮̟̉̀̈́̏̾̐͛̿͘͡Ĺ̷̡̛̘̰̙͉̐̋͒̃̅E̡̧̙̗͙͚̼̼͔̒͊̐̎ T̷̢̧̛̼͓̠̮͍̏̀͂̓͊͒͡Ė̢̻̱͙̳̳̙͍̺͚͌̊̈́͆̒͝X̷͙͔̥̞͇̞͙̀͆̌̑͛̒͠T̶̡̜͎̘̩͉̹̋͌̀̎̔͢͡͠!” he shouted. Nothing happened. Tzerak raised his brows, disbelieving.

“Did you… did you seriously just say _sample text_? What kind of half assed spell is that?”

“GRAARGH!” Razuun lunged at Tzerak with claws going straight for his throat, preferring death to the embarrassment he currently felt. Illidan snuck away from the bench – Razuun was missing his turn at the basin, and now was Illidan’s chance to drink. Someone started chanting that there was a fight going on, and the nearest instructors placed bets on who would die first instead of stopping it. So went another lunch break at the School of Slaughter.

 

On the weekend, Illidan sought out Kil’jaeden with many questions burning in his mind. He found the Eredar speaking with another, less handsome one on the eastern balcony of the Palace’s third floor. Kil’jaeden and Talgath were eating some sandwiches (really just witch meat covered in sand) and conversing quietly. Talgath turned upon hearing Illidan’s hooves against the stone floor and he scowled at the boy. Illidan ignored him and went right up to Kil’jaeden, crawling into his lap. Kil’jaeden looked down and made eye contact with Illidan, something he didn’t do when Sargeras was in control. Illidan gave a soft squeal of delight and cuddled him, lovingly rubbing his face against the Eredar’s bare chest.

“As I was saying, my Lord…” Talgath tried to pick up their conversation but Kil’jaeden dismissed him.

“Back to your duties. I must attend to this little one.” Kil’jaeden turned his full attention to Illidan, dipping his head low enough for the child to bat at his tentacles. “Hello, my cheeky champion. What can I do for you?” He cooed to Illidan, holding him close. Talgath rolled his eyes and left. He was loyal to Kil’jaeden but _damn_ did he hate the voice his Lord put on around that kid.

“K’jay, can I ask you something?”

“Why, you just did.” Kil’jaeden smiled warmly. “Ask away.”

“What’s up with Azeroth?”

Kil’jaeden’s smile froze on his face. “A…Azeroth? Whatever do you want to know about that for?”

“Some guys were talking about it at school. And I’ve heard some stuff about it at the council meetings…”

“The top secret ones you aren’t allowed to attend?” Kil’jaeden began to look quite upset. “Illidan…”

“I’m sorry! I just want to know what’s going on.” Illidan shifted around, flattening himself against Kil’jaeden’s chest and peering up at him with huge eyes. “Are we going to Azeroth to defeat the Naaru?”

Kil’jaeden’s great mind thought over the avenues he could explore in seconds. Everything came to a single deception that spilled from his lips as believable as anything could be. Illidan was none the wiser, eating it up.

“The Naaru have corrupted Azeroth, my son.” Whoops. He hadn’t intended to add that little endearment, but the ball was rolling and it wasn’t going to stop. “Kalimdor is blighted, poisoned by those filthy light-creatures.”

“No!” Illidan cried out, gripping Kil’jaeden’s tendrils tight. The Eredar yelped, and his appendages were released. “A…ah…! But what… what about the other Kal’dorei? Are they all dead?!”

“No. Calm yourself.” Kil’jaeden stroked Illidan’s hair, then the back of his neck and the space between his wings. “Let me explain. The disease is one so advanced that our eyes cannot detect it. It is invisible, but spreads rapidly, so it is safe to assume all of Azeroth is infected. Even the fish in the sea.”

Illidan whimpered, feeling sorrow and fear clench his heart.

“Lord Sargeras has received a vision that the Naaru will corrupt all worlds if they are not stopped. Soon, we will find them on Azeroth and destroy them for the good of all creation. But we must also purge all life from the planet – there is no saving it now.” Kil’jaeden touched Illidan’s mind at every point needed to force the child into accepting this knowledge. He was pleased to find that there was little resistance, but moral worries remained that would take some time to erode away. Malfurion and Tyrande were conveniently lurking in Illidan’s subconscious, supposedly forgotten.

Illidan closed his eyes, sniffling. “It’s so sad… that everyone on Azeroth has to die. All the innocent people…”

“If they do not die, they will suffer.” Kil’jaeden said evenly. “Would you rather feel pain for your whole life with no cure but death? Or would you prefer a quick, noble end at the hands of the Legion?”

“I don’t like pain.” said Illidan.

“Nobody does.” Kil’jaeden replied.

“You’re very wise.” Illidan shifted to be cradled against his guardian’s chest, and he sighed. “Thank you for sharing your knowledge with me.”

Kil’jaeden made a sound of approval and offered Illidan a sandwich, hand feeding it to him. “You’re such a good boy, Illidan. You listen better than half of my subordinates.”

“Mmmph~” Illidan curled his lips into a smile, sand granules dotting his chin. The praise flushed out all negativity and lightened his mind, bringing joy to his very core. _‘I love K’jay.’_ he thought. _‘He’s so much better without Sargeras around.’_

Kil’jaeden heard him and his heart ached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: Talbuk is the Argus equivalent of goat. So yeah if u wana insult an Eredar instead of callin' em a goatfucker, just use Talbuk xD but BEWARE DEM HOOVES


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FEELS

A few months passed, and Kil’jaeden received a message one day that Weaponmaster Xargach wished to see him. It was a Wednesday afternoon, Sargeras was nowhere to be seen and Illidan was supposedly at school. Kil’jaeden dressed himself in his usual finery, armor, adornments and all.

_‘I wonder what has happened.’_ Fond of schedules and despising sudden arrangements such as these, Kil’jaeden found himself mildly inconvenienced. _‘I could always not go.’_ he thought. _‘It doesn’t seem terribly important. But… I would like to see what Xargach thought was worthy of my attention.’_ He teleported at the requisite time, 3:40pm, and walked through the school gates. People seemed to be leaving for the day, and Kil’jaeden couldn’t sense Illidan having used his hearthstone to return home. He approached the Weaponmaster’s office and entered without knocking, pulling an Archimonde in the spur of the moment. Xargach stood and saluted, Illidan seated in the chair opposite his desk.

“Greetings, Lord Kil’jaeden.”

“Why have you called me here?” Kil’jaeden folded his arms, eyes shifting to Illidan and touching his mind in an attempt to gauge the situation.

_‘He’s nervous. But not guilty. He is not in trouble, then.’_

Xargach sat down in his high leather chair and folded his hands in his lap so Kil’jaeden could not see them trembling.

“Twice yearly we are required to contact you and discuss Illidan’s progress.”

“There is no need if he is succeeding. And that appears to be so.” Kil’jaeden nodded to Illidan, who meeped softly. “Why is my child anxiously seated here like an afterthought? He should be home by now.”

“Oh play along, will you?” Xargach leaned over, rubbing the sides of his head with two fingers. “I’ve been doing this all day by the will of Lord Sargeras-”

“And by the will of Lord Kil’jaeden, you will desist.” Kil’jaeden cocked his head smartly and beckoned to Illidan with a clawed finger. “Come, Illidan.”

Illidan breathed a sigh of relief, hopping off the chair with wings flapping behind him. “What’s for dinner, K’jay?” he asked as they exited the office. Kil’jaeden was about to answer when something flew past him, and twirled in the air. The creature grinned, showing off thirty sharp yellow teeth.

“Don’t forget your report slab~” It waved a stone tablet in front of Kil’jaeden’s face. Kil’jaeden took it, and then smacked the imp into the nearest wall so hard it died instantly. Wiping green blood from the stone, Kil’jaeden continued walking with eyes directed to Illidan’s midterm results. Xargach strained his tiny ears to try and get some measure of feedback.

“Dualwielding, seventy-five?” Kil’jaeden looked at Illidan sideways. “I expected a hundred.”

Illidan’s wings drooped, and his hopeful gaze upwards became downcast. “Can we have steak tonight?”

“You will answer appropriately when I speak to you, child.” Kil’jaeden’s voice became cold. Illidan deferred immediately in the veiled presence of Sargeras.

“Yes, sir.” It was his natural response to anyone with authority at school. Kil’jaeden’s face resembled stone as he looked over the remaining information.

“Spellcasting, a mere ninety-seven? From the child of the Great Deceiver?” He snorted. “Hmph.”

“It’s not like you ever took the time to teach me.” Illidan muttered under his breath.

Kil’jaeden stopped walking. Illidan froze.

_‘Shit.’_

“What was that?” With the cadence of void echoes and ancient temper slewn, Kil’jaeden spoke. Silence filled the hallway.

“Nothing.” Illidan said eventually, taking a step forward.

“I heard you, boy.” Kil’jaeden clenched his free hand into a fist and lifted Illidan into the air, magical bindings swirling into place. “You think I have all the time in the world to waste, don’t you?”

Illidan struggled, floating high enough in the air that falling from this height would break a bone. “K-K’jay…”

The bindings tightened, purple and green energy squeezing Illidan’s limbs.

“I scour the entire known _universe_ every single day for the glory of our Lord Sargeras, I exterminate whole civilizations and rain hellfire upon planets you couldn’t even comprehend, I FIGHT THE VOID WITH EVERY BREATH I TAKE! You think I have _time_?! Why do you think you are here, boy? To learn spellcraft so I do not have to waste resources on your feeble head.” Kil’jaeden threw Illidan to the floor, dragging him outside with the flick of a finger. Illidan cried as he was scraped across the ground, but he could not fight his guardian’s monstrous strength.

“Battlecries, sixty-four! Magical defense, eighty-three? Not a single instance of perfection from all you have done. I am ashamed, Illidan. This is pathetic.” Kil’jaeden had long since fainted from shock in his own mind, Sargeras assuming complete control. The titan-possessed Eredar flung Illidan into the air and released his bindings, catching him when he fell. He held Illidan up by the collar of his uniform, since Illidan didn’t really have the excess neck skin necessary for a good scruff hauling.

“Come to think of it, I have never once seen you study of your own accord at home. You are lazier than a pitlord, and I will fix it.”

“G..ggghhnn…” Illidan balled up his fists and raised them to his face, rubbing at his eyes. He sniffled, doing his best to hide from that penetrating gaze. _‘It’s not K’jay.’_ he told himself, quivering. _‘But… but it sounds like him… no! He doesn’t really think that…!’_ Though he could discern Kil’jaeden from Sargeras, the words themselves were not lost on him. _‘I didn’t get a hundred… that means it’s not good enough. But I did my best!’_ Something else popped into his mind. _‘My best isn’t good enough.’_ Tears wet his knuckles even as he dug them into his eyes, trying to keep himself together. Kil’jaeden scoffed and took him home, dumping him onto the council room table. Illidan’s pants had scuff marks all over them as did his shirt, while dirt and dust matted his hair.

“Go and clean yourself.” Kil’jaeden said, throwing the report slab into Illidan’s lap. Illidan squeaked at the impact. “I will find someone to watch over your studies.”

“B-but I already study plenty at school!” Illidan protested, knowing that he worked himself to exhaustion every day just to cope with the circumstances.

“Not enough!” Kil’jaeden slammed his hand on the table, sending forth a violent shockwave of energy. Illidan fell onto his back and scrambled to right himself, trembling. Kil’jaeden simply gave him a filthy look and left.

“Rough day?” said a warlock who’d been sitting under the table, playing cards with an incubus. Illidan didn’t reply.

 

That night at the council meeting, the contentious topic of information leakage was brought to the table. Illidan sat on Mannoroth in the darkness, quietly listening in. Kil’jaeden was confident that his lies about the infectious light and whatnot would fill in any gaps Illidan thought of while the conversation went on, and paid little attention. Most of his attention was on how he could get Sargeras out of his head as soon as possible. He could literally see his relationship with Illidan disintegrating by the day every time he checked on the boy’s mind.

_‘Accursed Sargeras.’_ he thought in the deepest recesses of his being. _‘Foul, blighted thing. I have worked so hard… and you do all this counterproductive shit.’_

“Right, so.” Tichondrius put his hands on the table and his brothers looked to him with interest. “We gonna get an inquisitor to torture every one of you or is someone going to own up?”

“We cannot risk any of our minds being ruined,” said Highlord Kruul. “We are Lord Sargeras’s chosen.”

“I bet it’s you.” Anetheron drawled. “You’re the rat.”

“I am _not_!” Kruul stomped a hoof into the floor hard enough to crack the tiles. “I have no interest in starting a civil war amongst the castes. My entertainment lies elsewhere.”

“In a good bit of meaty ass, I’d wager.” Mephistroth high-fived Anetheron for his little quip. “Civil war’s all well and good, but this goes for everyone – we all might end up getting fucked if it escalates.”

“I love war.” said Lord Kazzak, swishing his tail about. Tichondrius clapped slowly.

“Good for you.”

“Lord Sargeras mislikes this.” Kil’jaeden said. All eyes turned to him. “War is best waged upon others, not amongst our own forces.”

“Damn right.” Archimonde for once agreed and rolled his shoulders back, chin up. “We should hang the whisperers and threaten death to anyone who speaks of Azeroth.”

“Then we’d be killing off half our people.” Kil’jaeden said patiently. “The Legion exists to conquer all, and without at least one conquest every ten years, the people grow discontented.”

“Who gives a shit about the people?” Archimonde snapped. “They exist to serve us, and we conquer when we damn well feel like it!”

Kil’jaeden stroked a tendril to calm himself. “Please try to consider our long-term success, Archimonde. We are eternal only so long as our energies sustain us. Discontent breeds rebellion, and from rebellion comes betrayal.”  
“Where would our people go if not Argus? We shall hunt them down-”

“And waste resources doing so. We must keep all that we have in our control, lest our power in the millions out there be drained by a few strong voices.” Kil’jaeden knew that one defector from the Legion would mean one less corpse to recycle and create a loyal demon anew. Enough defectors and their ranks could be thinned to the point of uselessness. And killing those who spoke of Azeroth could not possibly be done in an efficient enough manner to eradicate them all, leaving more careful rumormongers to exercise greater efforts to hide their words. And those words would not cease. Kil’jaeden groaned internally. _‘This is a disaster…’_

To his right, Talgath sensed his worry and patted him on the shoulder.

_‘Don’t worry, my Lord. I will take care of this for you.’_

Kil’jaeden turned his head, the tingling connection pleasant for a moment before pessimism clouded his vision.

_‘I wish I could see what the future holds.’_ he admitted. _‘There are too many variables… so much room for error. I hate it.’_

_‘I know._ ’ Talgath replaced his hands in his lap and looked around at the council members. _‘May I have your permission to lie to the masses and assuage their fears?’_

_‘Oh yes, I forgot. Your name is Kil’jaeden the Deceiver, is it?’_ Kil’jaeden shook his head, closing his eyes. _‘Don’t even think about it. If there is to be a public address, I will look after it as I always have.’_

_‘As you say, my Lord. I only wish to help you.’_

Kil’jaeden pushed Talgath out of his head, the insistent voice grating on his nerves already. Archimonde suddenly pinched his thigh, and his eyes snapped wide open. The Defiler grinned.

“You want to sleep, go to bed. I’ll join you.”

“No, no. I’m awake.” Kil’jaeden sat up straight, wings rigid behind him. His brilliant golden eyes shimmered green as he drew on his internal power reserves. _‘There’s no way I’m letting you into my chambers, you harlot.’_

Archimonde had succeeded in grabbing his friend’s attention, but left his hand resting on Kil’jaeden’s bare thigh. It was an Eredar thing to not wear pants at night. A kilt was much more fashionable and warm. Kil’jaeden’s had slits at the sides, offering a naughty glimpse of his bits and pieces to any sharp-sighted, short-statured demons. And it also let Archimonde slip his hand unseen to caress his inner thigh with the pads of his fingers. Kil’jaeden shivered, his tentacle rings glittering with the movement. Mannoroth glanced over to him and saw the lecherous look on Archimonde’s face, accompanied by his proximity to Kil’jaeden… and knew exactly what was going on. The conversation had turned to wild accusations and clever quips, none of Mannoroth’s business. So he discreetly watched Archimionde with narrowed eyes, unaware that Illidan was doing the exact same thing.

Archimonde purred at the feeling of Kil’jaeden’s soft flesh, and he shamelessly groped higher until his knuckles brushed something more delicate. Kil’jaeden sucked in a shallow breath, his lips pursed.

_‘Archimonde,’_ He urgently contacted the other Eredar’s mind. _‘Stop it.’_

“Will you make me?” Archimonde said aloud, but only for Kil’jaeden’s ears.

_‘This is hardly the place…!’_ Kil’jaeden squeezed his legs together tightly but Archimonde was already in between and jabbed a sharp claw into his thigh.

“Now, now… don’t play coy.”

Talgath sat frozen, his eyes directly in Kil’jaeden’s lap. He could see motion beneath the fabric of his Lord’s kilt and knew just what was going on.

_‘The absolute gall…!’_ He could hardly believe his eyes. _‘How dare he? I knew they did things in private but… here?!’_

Mannoroth wanted to say something, but was none too eager to get a hoof to the skull again. He shifted his wings uneasily and felt Illidan’s little hands pat his back.

“I see what he’s doing.” Illidan whispered. Mannoroth paled.

“Oh, no… no you don’t, you shouldn’t be watching them.” Mannoroth growled under his breath. “Read this.” He picked up a book from the table and handed it to the child, who took it and put it on Mannoroth’s flaming head.

“I’ll do something.” Illidan dismounted from the pitlord’s back and crept around in the darkness. Panic set in to Mannoroth’s simple mind, for if something pissed off Archimonde, _he_ was going to have to pay for it.

Kil’jaeden was trembling from head to hoof, his tail smacking the back of his chair as an outlet for his forced arousal. Archimonde was giving him a handy under the table and scratching him threateningly with his claws from time to time. He was _bleeding_ there and oh, the further he hardened, the more it hurt.

_‘I’ll kill you for this…’_ Kil’jaeden hissed through their tenuous connection. _‘Burn you to cinders.’_

**_‘You’re welcome to try, sweet thing.’_**  Archimonde tugged with great strength and a small _eep_ escaped Kil’jaeden. Tichondrius looked over and Talgath made a similar noise, turning it into a hacking cough.

“Fuck’s sake, Talgath, you gotta lay off the ciggies.” Tichondrius imitated smoking with two fingers and a few demons laughed. Talgath sneered, folding his arms.

_‘I’ve done my job.’_ Worriedly he looked to Kil’jaeden’s drawn face. The Eredar’s eyes were ringed with dark circles, his cheeks gaunt and brows drawn together. At this hour, under these circumstances, his majesty was all but gone.

Kil’jaeden was doing his best to keep himself still and quiet, but his focus was broken by an alarm ringing in his mind. Illidan was up to something. He checked in to see the boy calling up spell matrices, and they were textbook quality, risk free components for a displacement field.

_‘What… would he need something like that for?’_ The moment he thought to question it, it happened. Illidan cast the field around his body and his mind emptied. Archimonde yanked his hand out of Kil’jaeden’s groin and screamed at the top of his lungs, shattering all the windows and reflexively kicking his chair away. He whirled around, spraying bright fel blood all over the table and nearby onlookers. Illidan, safe in his bubble, scampered away and Archimonde was none the wiser. A dagger lay at the Eredar’s feet.

“Hellfire, what is the _matter_ with you?” Kil’jaeden stood up, curling his tail around the front of his body to disguise his indecency.

Archimonde was sweating profusely, clutching his own tail with both hands as it quivered between his legs. A long strip of bloodied skin lay on the floor. Illidan had flayed it from top to bottom and ran.

“WHO DID THIS?!” Archimonde roared, voice high in agony. Some of the demons tittered, and Mannoroth remained frozen in place. Of course Archimonde turned to him first and accused. “MANNOROTH! WAS IT YOU?”

“I am just standing here, my Lord.” said the pitlord matter-of-factly. “Try again.”

“REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Archimonde started casting every detection spell he knew while he was bleeding onto the floor. Kil’jaeden quietly excused himself, not in the mood for loud noises or one-upping at this hour. On impulse he glanced at Mannoroth, and the pitlord met his eyes. Mannoroth nodded. Kil’jaeden raised his brows, then nodded back.

Kil’jaeden approached the third floor on foot, too weary to teleport for convenience’s sake. He was many things, but he was neither lazy nor stupid. He would need all his energy to deal with Archimonde’s whining tomorrow. He rounded the corner to the main hallway and bumped right into Illidan, who’d been hiding at the top of the stairs.

“Illidan.” Kil’jaeden bent down and looked into the boy’s eyes. “What did you do?”

“I saved you.” Illidan smugly gestured to himself. “Me! Are you proud?”

Kil’jaeden thought for a moment, but paused just long enough for Illidan to take his next words to heart.

“Yes. I am. Thank you, little one. You are braver than most.” He scooped Illidan into his arms, noting him to be a bit heavier than the last time he’d done this. Illidan beamed, his soft cheeks flushing as he smiled so widely his muscles got a workout. He grinned all the way to Kil’jaeden’s chambers, and undressed once he was free to do so. Kil’jaeden went into the bathroom and Illidan waited for him, but after five minutes he just had to knock and hurry him along. It was cold without Kil’jaeden by his side. Cold and lonely.

Kil’jaeden exited the bathroom a moment after Illidan knocked, wearing an illusion of decency while in truth he was butt naked and slightly wounded. Illidan hopped up onto the bed and peeled back the covers, inviting the Eredar to snuggle up next to him. Kil’jaeden got all warm and cuddly, but wasn’t expecting what Illidan said.

“We should kill Archimonde.”

Kil’jaeden’s eyebrows shot so far up his face that they nearly shattered his forehead plates.

“Child, are you sane? Archimonde could gut us both with a single finger.”

“You’re exagamating.” Illidan said in a condescending voice.

“Exaggerating.” Kil’jaeden corrected. “And no, I am not.” _‘Alright, maybe a little.’_ “He is very, _very_ strong. The entire Legion could take him down but you and I? Hardly.”

“We could try.” Illidan shrugged his wings, nuzzling into Kil’jaeden’s thick neck. “Nobody likes him.”

“He is the best soldier in Lord Sargeras’s army.”

“We have plenty others!”

“We will be disadvantaged if we lose him and those strong enough to fight him, which he will undoubtedly take with him into the Nether when he dies. Illidan, why are you so focussed on ending my comrade?” Kil’jaeden tried to get a look at Illidan’s face but the boy only hugged him tighter.

“He’s a monster. I hate him. He was hurting you in the meeting, I saw it.”

Kil’jaeden tensed all over. “You did…?” He tried to take control of the conversation and said, “I saw your displacement field, by the way. And what you did to his tail.”

“He deserved it.” Illidan sounded entirely self-assured. “And my field was perfect if someone sooooo strong couldn’t detect it.”

“An interesting vengeance, certainly.” Kil’jaeden stroked Illidan’s shoulder length hair, listening to the child’s breathing slow. “You are a good boy, Illidan, and your heart is in the right place. But I do not want you to attack Archimonde. It will not end well for you. He is dangerous.”

“So is the Fel, but we still drink it.” Illidan said nothing after that, leaving Kil’jaeden to ruminate all night long.

_‘He is too smart for his own good. The Legion does not favour curiosity.’_

_ ‘I wonder where he got it from. Who pursues knowledge at all costs?’ _

_‘Oh, shush.’_


	22. Chapter 22

Argus was in the middle of Summer when Kil’jaeden took Illidan out for his first flying lessons. A light, hot breeze ruffled his hair which he’d tied up for this occasion, needing no errant strands obscuring his vision today. Illidan skipped beside him, whistling through a gap in his teeth. They were headed for the mountains near Stygian Wake, where the Legion docked its ships and kept military supplies in deep caverns. Fel energy was strong here so Kil’jaeden could draw upon vast amounts in case of an emergency. Illidan could do the same if he wished to stave off exhaustion. They reached a cliff of black rock and Kil’jaeden held up his right hand. Illidan stopped, peering over the edge.

“Ooooh…” They were so high that the infernals and doomguards below looked like mere insects. “What’s down there?”  
“Soldiers and siege weaponry.” Kil’jaeden said. “You know what they do.”

“Lots of killing!” Illidan punched the air in a swift two-strike combo.

“And flying, too.” Kil’jaeden’s lips curved up at the corners. “Come, let us begin.”

“Yeah!” Illidan spread his wings, flexing them in and out. The sensation of warm winds against his skin relaxed him, anxiety ebbing away the longer he stood at the cliff’s edge. He stretched both arms out at his sides, tilting his face up to the gold and green sky. Kil’jaeden watched him in silence, waiting for the moment of liftoff.

It did not come. Illidan told himself _a moment longer, just a moment…_ while enjoying the breeze and Kil’jaeden recognized the signs of procrastination. Beneath that, fear.

“What’s that behind you?” Kil’jaeden said abruptly, and Illidan whirled around only to be shoved in the chest by a blast of magic.

“YAAAAAAᴬᴬᴬᴬᴬᴬᴬᴬᴬᴬᵃᵃᵃᵃᵃᵃᵃᵃ!” Illidan screamed all the way down, frantically beating his wings to avoid a messy death on the rocks below. Kil’jaeden zoomed in his vision to see whether intervention was necessary or not, while he monitored Illidan’s vital signs through their one-way connection. Elevated pulse, adrenaline rush, fight or flight… there. Illidan tensed his muscles in a snap decision and caught wind beneath his wings, using all his limbs to climb in the sky. It looked like he was swimming and Kil’jaeden wanted to laugh, but he saw the determination on the child’s face and kept it in. Illidan rose until he got to the cliff’s edge and gripped it, hauling himself up. He gasped for breath, awash in shock.

“You did it.” said Kil’jaeden, lifting Illidan into his arms. “You flew!”

“Hooh… Ya pushed me, K’jay!” Illidan glared at his mentor but was too exhilarated to be truly upset. “That was actually kinda fun.”

“Good, because you’re doing it again.” Kil’jaeden threw Illidan up into the air, right off the cliff’s edge and Illidan screeched like a dying harpy. Unfurling his own massive, well-muscled crimson wings, Kil’jaeden launched himself into the sky and dove to follow Illidan. Illidan struggled no further than a moment of panic, flexing and flapping his way to success. He saw Kil’jaeden coming for him and waved both hands.

“Look! Look!”

“Ahaha, I knew you could. See? This is the result of your growing strength.” Kil’jaeden hovered in place, beaming with pride. “I’m so proud of you.”

Illidan chirped, flying in circles with his hair streaming behind him. “This is the best! Ooh, let’s go over there!” He pointed to a tower down below with a circular landing pad on the roof. Kil’jaeden grabbed him by the hand.

“That’s restricted airspace.”

“But you’re the Deceiver! You can go aaaanyyyywheeeere~!” Illidan tugged his guardian closer, jerking a thumb back to gesture at his wings. “I can handle it, I’m not tired or anything!”

“Very well.” Kil’jaeden soared ahead, his supple form streamlined for maximum speed. “Catch me if you can!”

Illidan zoomed after him and laughed as they passed confused sky sentries. “Nyahaha!” Giddy with delight, he went higher and higher as fast as his little wings could manage. Kil’jaeden looked like a speeding bullet before him and he wondered if he would be so majestic in the air when he was older. “K’jaaaaay!”

Kil’jaeden did a backflip and posed heroically, clenched fists out by his hips and legs parted in a battle stance. “Aha! My champion approaches!”

“Myeew!” Illidan smacked into Kil’jaeden’s chest and was held close a moment later. Panting, he looked into his guardian’s eyes. Kil’jaeden smiled down at him, and for once they shared a moment of true connection.

Illidan would remember this as the best day of his life.

 

~

 

~

 

While Illidan continued with his schooling, Kil’jaeden devoted himself to undoing the harm Sargeras had caused to his brain structure. He spent hours each day in silent meditation, laying in bed and projecting his consciousness into the Nether where it could not be contacted. While there, he took up his favoured hobby of seeking the universe’s mysteries, the Eredar equivalent of doing a crossword puzzle. Actually understanding them was a different matter, but Kil’jaeden quite enjoyed considering that which was greater than himself… greater and _stronger_. But nothing was beyond the reach of Sargeras, and he knew eventually that the Dark Titan would come for him. At present, he floated in space with his inward reflections passing by, nonjudgemental and calm. Like stars of insight they twinkled, _this is how you react when someone touches you, this is why, it is linked to this that Archimonde has done…_ Knowledge came together and sat where he could easily see it. Kil’jaeden took solace in being able to comprehend the workings of his mind, and slowly began to take control. Here were his faults, here were his circumstances, and here was the best he could do if he made the effort.

 _‘I do not wish to be a flighty, anxious being afeared of close contact.’_ Kil’jaeden thought. An image of his fingers intertwining with Velen’s came to mind. _‘Rather, I would have openness and share in the glory of all that is known, and all that can be known.’_ He observed, creating hands for the fingers and then arms, and finally a full manifestation of the two beings. _‘You are not with me in body, Velen, but I yearn to contact you in spirit. I need your guidance.’_ He allowed the cosmos to caress him, at peace as one of the infinite elements of creation. The relief from his physical tension let him think beyond his usual limits, and thus reach through the fabric of reality. Then he sensed something. He paused.

 _‘Do I… fool myself with errant hope?’_ He checked again. An echo of their people, the Eredar, on a distant planet uncorrupted by Fel. Kil’jaeden’s eyes widened, emotion striking his clarity asunder. _Draenei, the exiled ones_. He clawed through the minor tear in all that was possible to grab hold of the planet, mind whirling to desperately record it in memory so his physical form could travel there and seize Velen. Information scattered, laughing in vibrant streaks before his grasping hands.

 _‘No…’_ Kil’jaeden’s constitution was splitting apart, his mind exerting ever more force to push through. _‘No…! I will not lose you again.’_

 _‘Brother?’_ A gentle, almost fearful voice inquired through the tear. Something dark enclosed it and two green eyes appeared before Kil’jaeden. _‘You have already lost.’_

 _‘That’s not you, that…!’_ Kil’jaeden sat bolt upright in bed, sweat trickling down his body. Sargeras stood before him in all his roiling might, armored from head to toe.

“KIL’JAEDEN.” The Titan boomed in such a commanding voice that his tactician’s legs moved on instinct. Survival instinct. “WE DEPART.”

“M-Master?” Kil’jaeden felt sick to his stomach, so brutally was he wrenched out of his meditation. “Where?”

Sargeras bared his manifold teeth in a sadistic grin. Kil’jaeden lowered his head.

“I will ready the troops.” He knew exactly what Sargeras wanted through their brief moment of connection, and dressed himself in a hurry. Sargeras exited in a flash of magic, leaving scorch marks on the plush carpet.

 _‘Steel yourself._ ’ Kil’jaeden grit his teeth, fixing his pauldrons in place. _‘This is not the end.’_

Five battalions and a host of fiery leaders departed that night to the world of Centralis, Sargeras at the head of the Legion’s many ships. On his word the forces warped into cloudy airspace and Kil’jaeden recognized the traces of energy here as if they were his own. Velen had been here. But when?

Time was variable in the Nether, and it was unknown how long had passed between Kil’jaeden’s curious contact and Sargeras’s invasion. Secretly Kil’jaeden hoped, as they descended raining hell upon the innocent world, that the Draenei were long gone.

_‘I do not want to destroy a part of myself.’_

 

~

 

“Well, that was convenient.” Talgath sprawled across one of the many lounges in the council room. “A good old conquest to appease the common folk.”

Kil’jaeden stood opposite him with a disapproving scowl on his face. Many other demons sat around conversing about the spoils of war and whatnot, not a single tear shed for those they had lost. Talgath caught the Deceiver’s ire and sat up straight, politely crossing his legs.

“My Lord, you do not approve?”

“Why was it,” Kil’jaeden began, folding his hands behind his back and pacing the floor “That our Lord Sargeras discovered this world and not you?” Everyone knew about Talgath’s duties, as his high profile exploratory efforts were a thing of legend. Only Kil’jaeden himself could best Talgath’s scrying abilities, and that he had.

Talgath cocked his head to the left, tail anxiously beating twice on a cushion. “Centralis was discovered and conquered, my Lord. Should we not appreciate the fact?”

Kil’jaeden paused, slowly turning his head. In his eyes were unreadable emotions swirling green and gold.

“The Draenei escaped, you incompetent bastard.” He spat his words out with biting frustration. “And _I_ discovered this world, Lord Sargeras leading us to it mere moments after. What are you even here for, Talgath? Why haven’t I gutted you and worn your skin as undergarments yet?”

“Be… be-cauuuuuse…” Talgath’s fear was palpable, and Tichondrius leaned back, soaking it all up. Mephistroth and Anetheron were getting in on it too, feeding on the Eredar’s veiled terror. “I have proven myself to be loyal and useful in the past.” Talgath squirmed, meekly looking up at Kil’jaeden. The Deceiver, in all his radiant beauty, twisted his face into a most undignified expression.

“You will find those traitors even if it takes you ten thousand years.” Kil’jaeden said coldly. “Schedule yourself for three days of torment, starting at midnight. Fool.” He left, and the silent room erupted in chaos.

“AAHAHAhA! Oh, you’re FUCKED!” Anetheron jabbed a finger at Talgath, guffawing. “DID YOU SEE HIS FACE?!”

“Looked just about to shit himself and cry.” Mephistroth added.

“Urgh.” Talgath put his head in his hands, muttering to himself. “For all the work I do, nobody appreciates it.”

“Results!” Kazzak crowed from his perch atop the nearby sink. He waved his cup of tea in the air. “Lord Kil’jaeden wants results! Those blue bitches done escaped us this time. As they always do.”

Illidan crouched next to him, shoulder deep in the cookie jar. “Too right.”

“Oh, what do you know?” Talgath snapped at the child, eyes blazing with fury. “You good for nothing little sneak. If you weren’t distracting my Lord, we’d have progressed much further by now.”

Illidan looked at him in the same way Kil’jaeden did. He’d been practicing. Talgath stiffened, unnerved.

“What?!”

“You’re angry.” Illidan pointed out. “But you’re not angry at me. Go talk to K’jay.”

“Are you dense? He will skin me alive and wear my skull as a codpiece.”

“He’s not _that_ big…” Tichondrius said under his breath. Talgath turned swiftly and smacked him across the face.

“Shut it!”

Anetheron jumped up and loomed over Talgath. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” A few warlocks jumped up and down on the table, cheering for Anetheron. Talgath rose and coiled fire in his palms, fingers tense.

“I’ll teach you…” He snarled as his gaze went dark and the colour drained from his face. Anetheron shoved him in the chest and was subsequently thrown back by a felblast. Energy swirled around Talgath’s body from the legs up, culminating around his head in a greenish purple mass. Anetheron decided to pull an Archimonde and spin-kicked Talgath in the face, breaking his concentration and also his nose. Talgath yowled and Tichondrius cackled, rubbing his sore cheek.

“Fuckin’ get him.” Tichondrius growled. “Show him what we’re made of.”

“They sure are violent.” said Illidan, sitting inside the empty cookie jar beside an enraptured Lord Kazzak. “Should we do something?”

“Let them fight.” Kazzak replied, throwing his cup into the fray and watching it splinter on the back of Anetheron’s skull. “Fighting is great!”

“Mn.” Illidan couldn’t help but wonder about Talgath’s words. “Hey Kazz, do you think I’m a distraction to K’jay?”

“Of course!” Kazzak spoke in good humor with eyes trained on the fight. “He’s dodged countless meetings to spend time with you. He loves you dearly, boy. Make the most of it!” A bolt of errant magic hit the wall just beside his head. Illidan ducked.

“Yeep!” He hid inside the jar with only his head poking out from the top. _‘It’s dangerous to stay around here… where’s K’jay gone off to?’_

Kil’jaeden stormed through the Palace, having debriefed his soldiers and now was back to square one of his search.

 _‘Velen, oh, Velen… you continue to evade my grasp. But I will find you.’_ He was going to his chambers for a nice, relaxing bath and then some more meditation when he tripped over something thick. He unfurled his wings to avoid falling on his face, kicking up a storm of energy in the quiet hallway. To the right, arched windows let in golden sunlight and basking in the rays was Mannoroth, flat on the floor. Kil’jaeden kicked the pitlord’s tail aside and chastized him.

“You’re in the way.”

Mannoroth lifted his head and then got to his feet, glaring daggers at Kil’jaeden. The Deceiver could sense some unresolved tension in Mannoroth’s mind, a mixture of will, want and fear. Kil’jaeden narrowed his eyes.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Apologies, my Lord.” Mannoroth growled. “I will take my leave.” He took a step forwards, tail sweeping across the tiled floor. Then he reached out to Kil’jaeden’s mind.

_‘Lord Archimonde…?’_

“Nowhere to be seen. Off you go.” Kil’jaeden nodded. He knew Mannoroth’s fears well – they were well founded, for Archimonde was not easily defied. Mannoroth opened up a portal and slipped through, allowing Kil’jaeden to see where he’d gone. He had some measure of trust in the Deceiver, probably not one of his smartest decisions, but nevertheless it was there. Kil’jaeden could hurt him, but he was unlikely to match Archimonde’s cruelty.

 _‘The Pits…’_ Kil’jaeden tasted the lingering traces of magic, now alone beside the row of windows. _‘What business does he have there?’_

Something outside caught his attention, a flash of movement signaling warp magics. He peered down to see two figures in the Palace’s gardens sitting under a tree made out of bones and fel glue. Galixus and Netrezaar exchanged hushed words that were obscured from Kil’jaeden’s detection skills. Galixus had a locked iron chest in his lap, and his eyes flicked around as did his perceptive abilities.

“You brought it?” Netrezaar reached for the chest with his long fingers. Galixus inclined his head.

“I did. My friend, before we do this, I have been meaning to tell you something.”

Netrezaar withdrew his hands, folding them in his lap. He feigned interest, tail brushing the ground impatiently. “Very well.”

“A few months ago, I had an… altercation with our Lord.”

The Eredar stiffened, eyes glowing softly. “What did you do?”

“I was attending to him after a rather messy incident…” Galixus chose his words with utmost care. “But while I did so, I thought… about him in an indecent manner. He perceived my misdeeds and cast me out in fury and shame.”

“Shame? My beloved Lord and Master Kil’jaeden has no reason to feel shame. In all his beauty and splendor, he is as the universe itself, perfection made manifest. What foul deeds of yours hurt him so?”

Galixus sighed. “I may have… let him see my desire to copulate with him. Most embarrassing. And I seem to have also unveiled a secret of his physical form that he had thus far kept hidden.”

Netrezaar touched Galixus’s mind with desperation needling at him, unable to penetrate the Dreadlord’s firm defenses.

“Tell me.” Netrezaar begged. “Show me. Oh, how I yearn to see the Master’s pure form!”

“I cannot betray his privacy.” Galixus said, honorable in the moment. Netrezaar’s face contorted with hatred for a moment before he masked it in a careful smile.

“Of course.” he said thinly. “You are, after all, his faithful servant.”

Galixus tapped his claws against the chest in his lap. “I suppose I’m just… trying to confess. I feel guilty that I bared his most hidden aspect through the act of mere fantasy, and that I laid hands upon him out of lust instead of duty.”

Netrezaar leaned forwards, his biceps bulging as he prepared to strike even as his hands were propping him up against the ground. “Did you _molest_ him?”

“No, no!” said the Dreadlord, shaking his head rapidly. “I mean…” He thought for a moment. “Shit. Maybe?” He raised the chest in front of his face, defensive. “Please don’t-”

Netrezaar lunged forwards and grabbed Galixus’s hands, wrenching them towards his own face and rubbing the palms all over himself.

“Oh, you touched his perfect skin with these hands of yours… let me absorb it… the radiance, the worthiness…!”

Galixus sighed, glad he wasn’t being torn apart but still mightily unnerved. “Gah.” _‘What is **wrong** with this guy?’_

Netrezaar groaned softly as he imagined making skin contact with the object of his obsession. “Meeheeehee…”

“Netrezaar, please. We have to get this over with. I brought what you requested.” Galixus struggled, leaning back as best he could. “Unwashed for a week.”

“Give it here!” Netrezaar released Galixus and took the chest from him, ripping the lock off with all his strength. Galixus observed in awed, anxious silence. The Eredar stuffed his face right into the chest the moment it was open and inhaled. His tail stood right up and waved from side to side.

“Oooh, this is perfect!”

“Have fun.” Galixus stood and went to leave, but Netrezaar stopped him with a flick of magic.

“Hey.” The chest was shut once more. “What do I have to give you in exchange for the Master’s secrets?”

“There’s nothing you can give me.” Galixus said softly. “I value his privacy more than my own life.”

“Oh?” Netrezaar stood, hand raised menacingly. “You would take his secrets to the grave, here and now?”

Galixus faced him, frowning. “Just what are you suggesting?”

Up in the Palace, Kil’jaeden squinted to see what was in the chest. A bit of fabric poked out from beneath the closed lid.

_‘Are those… my pants?’_


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moar pitlords! XD a short chapter with more character building.
> 
> btw i added fanart to the previous chapter, u can find more here > doitsuki.tumblr.com/tagged/fic-art

Mannoroth reached the Annihilan Pits a little later than he’d hoped, too anxious to avoid Archimonde’s gaze. Cloaked in a hundred different concealment spells he made his way through the gap in the cliffs. At once he sensed a different energy about the place, something curious and vibrant as opposed to the general apathy of his kin. He uncovered himself in the middle of the great island, finding none other than Magrazoth laying on her side before him. She twitched at his presence, and struggled to get to her feet.

“Brother, you return to us!” Nearby, three Eredar fanned her with disembodied felbat wings. They waved at Mannoroth, giddy smiles on their fanatical faces. Magrazoth spread her arms open wide.

Mannoroth stared at her, eyes taking in the sight of her gargantuan form.

“Magra… you, ah… you look well. Exceedingly so.”

“Oh, Manno~ I’ve been waiting to tell you.” She waddled a bit, approaching him as if savouring each step. “Come here.”

He wandered to her side, brushing up against her. There was a buttery soft texture to her skin, far different from his own tough, leathery hide. She flicked her tail against the back of his legs, indicating for him to turn. As he did, he ran his right hand across the vast expanse of her stomach. A point of heat jabbed at him from within.

“Uh, Sis… Whatever you ate, it.. er.. might still be alive.” Uncharacteristic nervousness stilted his words. Magrazoth laughed, long and loud.

“Feel.” she said with a smile. “And guess.”

“What am I supposed to…” Mannoroth’s voice died down into a little gasp. He recognized the flickering pattern of those hot touches. It matched the flames atop his own head, quicker than his pulse. He stared at Magrazoth who was beaming with pride. “You…” The words did not come. He continued to feel, warmth spreading through his two hearts. Magrazoth purred softly as another pitlord walked past. It was Fel Commander Urgoz, and he gave Mannoroth a thumbs up.

“Grats, Sir.” Mannoroth turned to look at him with shock plainly written across his face. “You’re going to have a few little soldiers in a year’s time.”

“A few?” Mannoroth groped a bit and indeed, he felt many little living, breathing presences in there. “Oh… my.”

Magrazoth lay back down on her side and Mannoroth joined her, not looking where he was sitting and crushing one of the Eredar.

“ᴵ'ᵐ ᵒᵏ” said a muffled voice.

“I can’t believe it.” Mannoroth murmured, reverently running his large hands across Magrazoth’s stomach. “This is… from when we…?”

“Yes, they’re ours.” Magrazoth tilted her head to the side, her long mane of flames flourishing. “Brother, you seem troubled.”

“It’s forbidden.” he blurted out. “We can’t do this!” A few eyes turned in his direction.

“But we have.” Magrazoth said gently. “And we will.”

“Lord Archimonde will-”

“-die a painful death if he dares come between us.” Magrazoth remained patient, explaining. “I’ve already spoken to the others. They’re all in support. We as a people will advance whether the Legion likes it or not.”

 _‘No, no no…’_ Mannoroth thought in panic. _‘This is all wrong…! Archimonde, he’s too strong, he’ll…’_

“Hey.” Magrazoth reached out and grabbed Mannoroth by a tusk, dragging his face to hers. “We’ll be alright.”

Mannoroth shut his eyes, lips quivering. His sister slid her hand to cup his face, running a thumb along his cheek.

“It’s okay.” Boundless compassion sweetened her soft voice, and she leaned in to kiss Mannoroth on the nose. “I know you can’t stay.”

“I want to.” Mannoroth whispered. “I want to protect you. I want to… be here, with my people.”

“But duty calls.” Magrazoth gestured to the top of the cliff behind Mannoroth, and he didn’t want to look. “You have a visitor, Manno.”

Talgath squinted, barely able to see through the fog. _‘What Lord Kil’jaeden sent me here for I’ll never know. Bloody waste of time…’_ He tried to cast a spell of far sight but the magics protecting the Pits were too strong for him, clouding his mind and sapping his energy. He was already weakened from his battle with Anetheron, and sorely needed a drink. _‘Screw this. I’m going to Felbucks.’_

Mannoroth hid his face in Magra’s neck, her heat enveloping him with a sense of comfort and security.

“I’m so sorry.” he grunted. “I wish I could stay with you.”

“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll miss you, but you always come back.” She caressed his back as they lay together, Mannoroth with his legs folded up to give her more room. “Do come to see me in five months, won’t you?”

“You’re due then, eh…” Mannoroth nodded. “I’ll come.” As they cuddled up together his thoughts of Archimonde ebbed away, replaced by the warmth of his beloved sister. His family here in the Pits would look after her in his absence, and soon enough if all went well they would have many little bundles of flame and power together. Not once in his life had he envisioned being a part of something like this. He’d never had the hope.

 

~

 

Talgath sat by the front window of Felbucks, sipping at his green coffee with a sour look on his face.

 _‘Stupid Kil’jaeden. Doesn’t know when to quit.’_ Mildly intoxicated, he flicked a finger and called a newspaper from the stand outside through the sliding doors. It flew into his hands and he read the front page.

 _‘Conquering Centralis! Pictured, Lord Archimonde decimating an entire village with one hand! Full spread on page 2.’_ Violent imagery screamed at Talgath’s eyes and the last thing he wanted to be reminded of was that damned conquest. But it was everywhere, in the news, on the radio, on TV and spoken of in the streets. Finally, the magnificent Lord Sargeras had lead the masses to slavering, genocidal victory on a planet nobody gave a shit about. Talgath had been so close to discovering the exact warp coordinates. And of course Sargeras just had to steal his glory.

_‘Sargeras this, Kil’jaeden that… bah! What’s the fuckin’ point?I say one word and get my face kicked in. Shoulda gone with Velen. Purple eyebrow bastard… Least he knew how to reward loyalty.’_

“Hey, look! It’s Lord Kil’jaeden’s right hand!” An imp pranced through the café and waved to Talgath. “Yo! Mister General! What’s goooood?”

Talgath rolled up his newspaper and threw it at the imp, plastering the creature to the floor.

“Sweet! A new hat!” The imp cackled, running around in circles. Talgath sighed.

 _‘Might as well hang myself, this is going nowhere. I don’t wanna spend the next eternity searching for some guy who doesn’t want to be found.’_ He left without paying, knowing he could get away with it. He trudged through the lower streets of Mac’Aree, glowering at the buildings. _‘What even is this? This isn’t the Argus I loved. All this weird architecture, none of the grace of the Wakeners anywhere to be seen.’_ He missed the purple fog, the educational insights of Thal’kiel, and so much that he’d tried to suppress throughout his man’ari life. This was something he and Kil’jaeden had in common, the nostalgia and bitterness, but it was never spoken of. Someone was always listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ok holy shit I had an idea. When Mannoroth said “I’m so sorry”… a thought came. He’d gut Magrazoth and slaughter as many of the Annihilan as he could, because that suppressed bloodlust I’ve been setting up in the previous chapters can’t be held back any more. And all the while he’s screaming his head off in rage and grief, and somewhere in the distance Archimonde’s sipping tea like :3 )  
> (I didn’t put that in because it legit hurt my soul to even think about)


	24. Chapter 24

Illidan’s midsummer holidays went by in a flurry of steel and sweat. Kil’jaeden was no cruel taskmaster but trained the boy every day for hours so he did not lose his edge. Sword drills, magical defenses, conjuration and wards… everything was tested, being refined over time. Illidan turned up to every training session with a grin on his face, eager to soak up the Great Deceiver’s limitless knowledge. He was surprised to see Kil’jaeden actually knowing a thing or two about fighting, and the Eredar gave him pointers when his form was anything less than supreme. Today they were in the gardens shooting fireballs at moving targets, actual living beings made of coalesced Void energy.

“They’re not people, so it’s okay.” Kil’jaeden said, standing with his thick, scarred arms folded across his chest. “Hit them harder.”

“Got it!” Illidan scrunched up his face, channeling all his strength into a fierce blast that annihilated a group of Voidwalkers. They hissed, dissolving into nothingness. Illidan spun around with chaotic flames dancing at his fingertips, murder in his eyes. Kil’jaeden nodded.

“Good.”

“Yay~!” Illidan jumped up and down, accidentally raining meteors all over the place. Kil’jaeden simply protected himself with a deflection spell and smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm.

“You’re getting stronger.” He squatted, still too tall to be at Illidan’s eye level but close enough to pat him between the horns. Illidan purred and leaned into the touch, proud as could be. “Would you like to duel?”  
“Whaaa? Me and you?” Illidan stared up at Kil’jaeden, mouth agape. “But you’ll…” He paused. _‘K’jay would never hurt me.’_ “What if Lord Sargeras comes?”

Kil’jaeden had almost forgotten, and raised his brows, impressed.

“Fair point. No, I won’t fight you. I want to see you defeat… this one.” He threw a hand up to the sky and clenched strands of energy together, speaking an incantation to summon someone. It was a Wyrmtongue, halfway through rummaging around in its satchel for a weapon when Kil’jaeden kicked it towards Illidan. It landed on its feet with a warbling cry.

“This.” Kil’jaeden stepped back, tail smoothly swishing about in anticipation. “Kill it.”

“Hyaaaaarghhh!” The creature got up, baring its many spiked teeth at Illidan. “You no take candle!”

“What the-” Illidan ducked to avoid a rock hitting him right in the eye. “Hey! Wait for me to-”

“No wait! Graauahuhughgh!” A barrage of random projectiles came out of the Wyrmtongue’s bag. Kil’jaeden growled.

“Strike before it tears you apart.”

Illidan narrowed his eyes, then rolled to the left to pick up his sword. The other one was right beside it but just as he reached out, something wet hit him in the face.

“?!” He spat out the sweet substance, expecting it to be something gross.

“GUARD UP!” Kil’jaeden roared, and Illidan hastily threw a defensive spell in front of his sticky face. A bomb exploded less than a second later, disorienting him instead of taking his head off.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGH!” The Wyrmtongue had run out of things to throw and now came at Illidan, claws out. Illidan wielded both swords, channeling flame through them until they glowed bright green. He raised them to parry and jumped back, a swipe just narrowly missing his knees. One slash forth opened the Wyrmtongue’s forehead, the next catching it in the shoulder. It started frantically scrabbling at Illidan who’d flown into the air and was circling around, blades ready. He swept in for the kill and cut down through the creature’s skull, flipping over it while one sword dug into its brain. He landed on his hooves, squatting defensively. The Wyrmtongue fell flat on its bloodied face with a _splut._ Illidan gave it a poke for good measure, then turned to Kil’jaeden. The Eredar had a hand to his chin, stroking his silvery beard with two fingers.

“You shouldn’t need me to call out your moves, Illidan.” Kil’jaeden walked over to him and knelt, checking for injuries. He manhandled Illidan with ease, turning his face this way and that, then poking at his body. “In time it will become second nature. Stay still!”

“Nyeh! I’m fine, it didn’t get me!” Illidan squirmed.

“And what’s this?” Kil’jaeden thumbed a spot of icing from Illidan’s cheek. “It threw a cake at you. Had that been a dagger, you would have been dead.”

“Nuh uh.” Illidan shook his head, wriggling even harder but Kil’jaeden just licked him in the face and didn’t let him go. “You’d a killed it for me, K’jay.”

“Even my reaction time has limits.” said Kil’jaeden. He lifted Illidan into the air, sensing his pulse hammering away. “Now… take a break.” Illidan got to ride around on the Deceiver’s shoulders while Kil’jaeden walked into the Palace. A nearby servant took Illidan’s swords as they were thrown to him for cleaning. It was around midday, sweltering hot outside and pleasantly cool in here. Kil’jaeden took Illidan to the third floor’s finest sitting room and sent telepathic orders to Galixus. Minutes later, they had something to drink and the privacy to relax. But it was not to last. Illidan was sipping on his cold-pressed Fel when he sensed a presence nearby. Kil’jaeden’s head turned towards the door just before a knock interrupted their peace.

“Who is it?” He decided to humour whoever it was, being in a fair mood.

“Just me, my Lord!” The door opened and Netrezaar strode in. Illidan squeaked, hiding under Kil’jaeden’s dark kilt.

“Ah, Netrezaar.” Kil’jaeden was fond of the blacksmith’s sycophantic nature and knew he could do whatever he liked with him. “Come, sit. I haven’t seen you in quite some time.”

“Ohh, you have missed me?” Netrezaar tittered behind his hand, politely seating himself in the armchair beside the couch. His eyes shone bright green as he restrained his hatred for Illidan, who occupied the space he felt entitled to. “If you are ever in need, I will gladly attend you.”

“I’m sure you have much better things to do.” Kil’jaeden bantered right back with a subtle smile. “Making weapons and the like. Have you crafted any fine works of note lately?”

“Many.” Netrezaar said. “But none so fine as you.”

“Oh, my.” Kil’jaeden rolled his eyes and laughed. “Your sweetened words just might cure my eternal saltiness.”

“Only the sweetest words for my most beloved Master.” Netrezaar bowed his head, reveling in the sound of Kil’jaeden’s deep voice. Barely able to control himself, a thought came that if he threw himself at Kil’jaeden now, he could have a second of pure joy before the Deceiver turned him to ash. “If I could be so bold…” he began, noting Kil’jaeden’s change in posture to a more closed stance. “I- I do not wish to overstep.”

“No, by all means.” Kil’jaeden shook his head, two fingers raised in casual dismissal. “Speak your mind.” He nudged Illidan with a hoof to tell him to stop tickling the back of his knee.

“Though it is not my place, I find myself curious about the goings-on within the Council.” Netrezaar tented his long, callused fingers and made wavelike motions. “I fear there is one among you who does not have Argus’s best interests in mind.”

“Of course not.” Kil’jaeden said, drawing a more intense focus from the Eredar before him. His lovely, intelligent golden eyes narrowed so slightly that only one obsessed could notice. “Sargeras’s interests are the Council’s duty.”  
“My apologies.” Netrezaar murmured with a bashful look on his face. “You know my skills are of hand, not mind.”

“Perhaps you should set your head on the anvil, hm?” Kil’jaeden smirked, and Netrezaar nearly fainted. “Give it a good pounding to remember that the _Duumvirate_ attends to Argussian matters.”

“As you request.” said Netrezaar. “How many hours of work should I go through?”

“Oh, don’t smash your skull in, you fool. I jest.” Picking up a glass of fel, Kil’jaeden drank some and closed his eyes. “Mmmm. Do you need anything?”

“Only your esteemed company, my Lord.” Netrezaar put a hand to his chest, eyes fixed on the Deceiver’s crimson lips. He committed the image to memory, so soft and sublime…

Illidan poked his head out from between Kil’jaeden’s hooves, lifting up his kilt.

“Hey.”

Startled, Netrezaar inched back in his chair. “Hello.”

“There you are.” Kil’jaeden hauled Illidan up as one would an unwilling cat and held him in his lap. “You’ve met Netrezaar, yes? The finest blacksmith on Argus.”

“Uhuh.” Illidan sprawled in Kil’jaeden’s lap, noting how Netrezaar burned with jealousy. “He’s weird.”

“Eccentric, maybe.” Kil’jaeden stroked the boy’s hair, feeling the smooth strands. He turned to the other Eredar. “Illidan cut down scores of Voidwalkers today. He’s very skilled.”

“Is that so?” Netrezaar nodded politely. “Surely due to your guidance, he will prosper.”

“I could really use some new blades, though.” Illidan pushed his cheek into his palm, coyly eyeing the blacksmith. “You wanna make me some blades, Nene?”

“That would be wonderful.” Kil’jaeden said. “Something to commemorate your skills.”

“If my Lord so wishes.” Netrezaar focussed on keeping his demeanour relaxed, unwilling to alert Kil’jaeden of just how badly he wanted to wring Illidan’s neck. The kid was the Bart Simpson of Argus. “What shall it be? Swords, axes, warglaives…?”

“Ooh, I want some warglaives! Reaaaaally big ones!”

“Do you even know how to use them?” Netrezaar snapped.

“He will learn.” Kil’jaeden spoke softly as he caressed Illidan’s cheek. “Such a smart boy, aren’t you, Illidan?”

“Mhee.” Illidan made his face like this :3 and wriggled around in his guardian’s lap. Kil’jaeden chuckled.

“Full of energy, this one.” He gazed at Netrezaar with such pride that the Eredar’s breath left him for a moment. Netrezaar looked at the two, Deceiver and Deceived, and thought they looked exactly like a happy little family. A family without him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BIG DRAMA!!!

Kil’jaeden sat at his desk, fingers pressed to the sides of his head and eyes squeezed shut. He was spying on the Council a day after Netrezaar seemed concerned a traitor lay in the ranks. A green sigil swirled in front of his forehead, marking extreme concentration. As he projected his consciousness into the minds of each and every person sitting at the table, he found some interesting bits of knowledge. Anetheron was using an illusion so nobody would see him picking his nose. Mannoroth was paying more attention to the open census book before him than what Archimonde was saying, eyes lingering on Annihilan names. Illidan was there, batting an Eredar warlock’s tail with a wooden spoon. Archimonde had his dick out, for some reason. And Talgath was… having a mental breakdown? Kil’jaeden pursued his thoughts with greater care and saw the fabric of Talgath’s mind splitting apart, heavy despair burning black holes in formerly tight, sensible logic.

_‘What on Argus is wrong with **him**?’_ Talgath was considering everything from defection to suicide, images of uncorrupted Eredar flickering before his eyes. He wasn’t hearing anything the Council was discussing.

_‘I have to talk to him.’_ Kil’jaeden thought. _‘Unbelievable, my own right hand man and he hid this from me for how long?’_

_ ‘He does not wish to displease you. A loyal, perhaps misguided servant.’ _

_‘Oh, misguided to you alright, Velen. After he brought your wife and son to me so I could gut one and twist the other…’_ Kil’jaeden spoke to his inner Velen with a snarky, corrupt edge to his voice. Exerting so much mental energy made him crankier than a poked pitlord. _‘Gahh… if Talgath continues to deteriorate like this, the great mind I know him for could be lost.’_

_ ‘Do you care for him or his abilities to serve?’ _

Kil’jaeden didn’t want to think about that, and pushed the curious voice away. He went back to spying on the Council.

“The Deceiver’s presence is sorely missed.” Highlord Kruul said, drawing circles in the table with the tip of a claw. “Why does he avoid us?”

“He has better things to do than bother with you lot.” Talgath spat.

“What’s the matter with you?” Tichondrius tilted his head to the side, his horns knocking into Anetheron’s. “Talgath?”

“Gahhh!” Talgath stood abruptly and threw his hands in the air. He exited, muttering incoherent and aggressive nothings all the while. Kruul stared in his direction.

“Well, that was unusual. Do you think he’s upset that Lord Kil’jaeden won’t be paying much attention to him soon?”

“Why would he do that?” asked Kazzak, beady eyes glowing with curiosity.

“Do you remember three years ago when he sent all of his consorts on vacation? They return this evening.” Kruul said.

A few people glanced towards Archimonde, who rolled his muscular shoulders back and dug his claws into his palms. Mannoroth eyed him as he sensed the Eredar’s displeasure, jealousy and hatred radiating in luscious green waves from Archimonde’s soul. Tichondrius made a cupping motion to Anetheron, who nodded and laughed. They could drink up the negativity and be invigorated, while Archimonde stewed in his rage.

“Who cares.” Archimonde grunted. His thick upper body swiveled to the right and he approached the massive window. Pensive, his jaw clenched as he rolled false words in his mouth. “He won’t bother with them anyway. Kil’jaeden touches nobody but me.”

“Uh… that’s supposed to be a secret, isn’t it?” Tichondrius put a finger to his bottom lip. Archimonde made a violent gesture towards him then and cut the air with a _swoosh_.

“Oh, everyone fucking knows it! Kil’jaeden’s the most intelligent whore in the Legion, mine and mine alone. Even Lord Sargeras respects that.”

“Ooooh…” Murmurs filled the room, some angered whispers dying under the louder expressions of amusement.

_‘How dare he slander Lord Kil’jaeden thus?’_

_‘I knew it.’_

_‘He’s been getting bolder by the day.’_

In his study, Kil’jaeden leaned back in his chair and began to plot.

 

~

 

That night, a thick green fog descended over Argus as if the planet knew its residents had something to hide. Archimonde could barely see past his nose as he paced the balcony of the second floor, eyes to the starry sky. He wasn’t much for deep thought and reflection, but at a time like this he couldn’t help but be drawn into himself.

_‘Does Kil’jaeden hate me? It’s not my fault he’s so sensitive. Why won’t he let me touch him unless I force him to submit? I wish we could connect like we used to, without me having to threaten his stubborn ass just to have a conversation.’_ His chiseled features squished together in a grimace. Cold winds fluttered the balcony’s gossamer curtains and chilled Archimonde’s exposed tail. _‘How horridly unpleasant. I hate this.’_

“Archimonde, may I speak with you?” A voice icier than the wind spoke from behind him, and Archimonde turned to see Kil’jaeden in long black robes. He narrowed his eyes.

“You’re speaking to me now.” There was a moment of silence, Archimonde’s gaze drifting to Kil’jaeden’s breathing wings. _‘How should I approach this? If he’s come here to fuck – no, he wouldn’t. He doesn’t care for me at all. Then he’s got something to complain about. Fine, that makes two of us. Come at me, you beautiful bastard.’_

Kil’jaeden looked surprised for a moment, then his firm lips relaxed into a soothing smile. He took a calmer tone with a hint of arrogance. “Thank you.”

Archimonde flexed his thick fingers, agitation stiffening his features. “You come here to read my mind or do you have something important to say?”

Kil’jaeden’s smile faded. “I am much displeased with you, brother.” he said with infuriating detachment. Standing perfectly still, he gave Archimonde a haughty smirk. “You think you can play the game as I do? Deceiving countless fools under the nose of the Master himself?”

Archimonde went to say something but Kil’jaeden interrupted him.

“None sow lies with a greater hand than I, Archimonde. And lies they are, defamatory ones at that.” Cruelty seeped through each word, biting at Archimonde’s ears. “ _Whore_.”

Archimonde took a step back on instinct, some crucial part of his being frightened of the malice before him. He remembered himself quickly enough and jabbed a finger at Kil’jaeden.

“You were there, then? Listening at the Council? Why didn’t you show yourself, you cowardly fuck?”

Kil’jaeden scoffed lightly, turning his head to gaze out at the fog. “My machinations are not for you to know.”

“Well I know now!” Archimonde didn’t like this one bit. _‘Why’s he talking like that? What the hell is this?’_ His tail coiled towards his body unconsciously. Kil’jaeden saw it from the corner of his eye.

“I belong to myself, Archimonde, no matter how many times I give in to your stupid ploys.” Kil’jaeden spat his last words out as if physical pleasures were beneath him. And they were, really, when they weren’t of his own accord. “You foolish, desperate beast. I should turn you to ash where you stand.”

Archimonde forced himself to stay grounded, every muscle in his body screaming to run. _‘I… I’m not scared of you, what the fuck?! Why do I – I’ll kill you, asshole. How dare you-’_

Fire burst in Kil’jaeden’s eyes and Archimonde squeaked. A wicked smirk came upon the Deceiver’s face.

“You’ve been very, very naughty.” Kil’jaeden growled. Archimonde glanced to the hand that now held potent energies coming to a boil. “And naughty boys deserve punishment.”

“GRAAAH!” Cornered, Archimonde threw himself at Kil’jaeden and was swiftly kicked in the knee, dislocating it backwards. Kil’jaeden flew in the air now and blasted Archimonde right up the tail with searing, hateful magic.

“You misunderstand me.” said Kil’jaeden after Archimonde had stopped screaming. “This is not a fight.”

 

Midnight came and Kil’jaeden was in his chambers, cleaning blood from his hooves. As he moved the towel back and forth he spoke in his mind to Sargeras.

_‘You have my thanks.’_

Sargeras begrudgingly replied. _–NEXT TIME I WILL NOT ASSIST YOU. SOLVE YOUR PROBLEMS YOURSELF AND WITH THE LEGION’S FORCE BEHIND YOU.–_

_‘Yes, Master. Your assistance was just what I needed to choose the right words and actions this night. I will endeavor to please you further as I punish the deserving.’_

_-LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU WILL. I’D QUITE LIKE TO SEE ARCHIMONDE GET HIS FACE KICKED IN AGAIN.-_ An image of the Dark Titan’s smiling face flashed in Kil’jaeden’s mind, and then he was gone. Kil’jaeden sat on the edge of his bed, next to a sleeping Illidan. Once assured that his thoughts were his own, he reflected.

_‘I suppose from now on I will have to be strong. Sargeras has let me introduce to Archimonde that I will no longer comply with his demands. It is up to me to continue holding myself together.’_ The push of cruelty had enabled him to take his independence back and slip out of the fearful hole he’d been broken into. He inspected his hooves, satisfied with their condition and slipped under the bedcovers. Illidan snuggled up next to him and Kil’jaeden slept that night in peace, while Archimonde lay in a pool of his own fluids three floors below.

 

It was Mannoroth who found him in the morning, the Defiler now the defiled. Dark fel clotted cracks in Archimonde’s crest while burnt skin oozed yellow nastiness all over his lower body. Unconscious and with six different bones sticking out of various places, Archimonde looked quite dead. Physical pain was what he understood, and oh, Kil’jaeden had given it to him.

Mannoroth poked him with the sharp end of his double bladed polearm, and Archimionde didn’t move.

_‘Nice.’_ Mannoroth grunted in satisfaction, trundling off towards the palace gates. _‘I’ve got a whole day for myself!’_ He lost himself in thoughts of what he was going to buy in Mac’Aree, all the necessary supplies that Magrazoth could make good use of in his absence. _‘I wonder if they sell tiny shoes at Felmart. Oh, and spike ointments.’_ As he made up his shopping list, he failed to notice the eyes upon him from an Eredar sitting atop the gates. Talgath perched there, watching Mannoroth’s enormous form move with unusual vivacity. He remembered Kil’jaeden asking him many weeks ago to check on Mannoroth’s voyage to the Annihilan Pits, nothing out of place for his species. Again, the Destructor was leaving the Palace and his master Archimonde behind. And he was forbidden to do so. Talgath decided to follow him.

 

Netrezaar was hanging around the Palace, having no business there but sticking as close as possible to Kil’jaeden while he was allowed. Generally, the guards told him to fuck off but they got tired of him sneaking back in, avoiding detection spells and the like. Sargeras didn’t mind. So, there wasn’t too much of a problem unless enough complaints were made, and few dared to speak against Kil’jaeden’s number one fan.

Creeping through the crystalline halls, Netrezaar held his hands out to admire morning’s light upon his bejeweled fingers. The arched windows to his left had a nice golden glow to them, something he couldn’t stare at for too long. After a night of freezing fog, Argus was heating up and in here it was cool enough to suit even the pickiest of royalty. Netrezaar marched along until he went into a pillar, and glared at the nearby guard who could barely stifle laughter in his helm.

“You. Have you seen Lord Kil’jaeden anywhere?”

The guard snickered. “I doubt you have with those object detection skills of yours. You blind or some shit?”

“He’s not taking visitors.” said an incubus who’d just come around the corner. He gave the guard a sharp look, only diverting his gaze when the armored demon took up his professional watchman position. “What do you need, sir?”

Netrezaar sniffled. “Lord Kil’jaeden…”

The incubus seemed to understand, and looked at Netrezaar, worried.

“He is attending to his consorts. If you have longterm relations with him, please accept my condolences…”

Netrezaar’s face hardened and he turned on his heel (hoof?), striding back the way he’d come. The demons he left behind exchanged glances in silence.

Upstairs, Kil’jaeden reclined on a long plush couch as his twelve consorts filed in through the door. They were all Eredar, three well built, five slender, four soft and all male.

“Welcome back.” said Kil’jaeden, his golden eyes surveying those assembled. “Did you enjoy yourselves?”

“As well as we could without your company, Master.” someone replied.

“Do make yourselves at home. I won’t have you standing around as if waiting to be executed.” At the Deceiver’s command, everyone dispersed and arranged themselves in comfortable, pleasing positions all around the room. Kil’jaeden beckoned to Zaarios, the most fragile looking out of all the Eredar. Zaarios inclined his head, delicate horns sweeping back behind his crest.

“I’ve missed you.” Kil’jaeden said softly as the consort sat in his lap. “Be a darling and change for me, hm?”

Zaarios concentrated for a moment, his crimson skin fading to a smooth lavender colour. His light blue eyes glowed with neutral energy. Kil’jaeden pulled him close by the back of his head and kissed him, slowly savoring the taste of sweet lips. Zaarios reciprocated, tail flicking until Kil’jaeden caught it and began to stroke up. He moaned softly, allowing his Master to manipulate his body as he saw fit. Kil’jaeden beckoned with his mind to someone else, who settled between his legs. It was in this warmth and comfort that Kil’jaeden could relax, being taken care of by those who existed just to please him. As ancient as he was, he could rediscover the pleasures of the flesh now that Archimonde was out of the way.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MORE BIG DRAMA?! WOWOWOWOWO

Talgath found Kil’jaeden relaxing at night in a pile of subservient Eredar.

“My Lord.” Talgath bowed stiffly. “I have news.”

“Oh?” Kil’jaeden scritched one of his consorts under the chin, eliciting a delightful purr. “What is it?”

“I took it upon myself to investigate Mannoroth’s recent behaviour, as he has left the palace numerous times despite being forbidden by Lord Archimonde.” Talgath brought a sheet of paper out from behind his back, offering it to Kil’jaeden. “He made some unusual purchases.”

Kil’jaeden waved his hand and the Eredar attached to his right side, Taelen, took the paper. After reading for three seconds Taelen shook his head.

“I don’t know what to make of this.”

Kil’jaeden had a look, then slowly turned to Talgath. “What do you think he is up to?”

“I cannot say.” Talgath opened his arms, showing his honest lack of knowledge. “But perhaps he plans to betray us, somehow.”

“I doubt it.” Kil’jaeden sighed as Taelen’s thick fingers caressed his chest, massaging him tenderly. “Mmm… you know how cruel Archimonde is to him, but he is a loyal fool if I ever saw one.”

“As are most of us.” Talgath averted his eyes. Kil’jaeden tilted his head minutely, silver hair cascading over one shoulder.

“Talgath, my friend. What troubles you?” He beckoned, and after a moment’s hesitation the Eredar approached. Talgath nestled himself amongst the others and rested his head on someone’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

“Things I would be slain for, my Lord.” Beside Talgath, Raazyk patted him on the back out of sympathy.

“You may speak freely.” Kil’jaeden said. “We will look after you if you are afraid.”

_‘Pathetic.’_ Talgath thought to himself. _‘He thinks you’re weak. Oh, you are weak, you useless thing. Can’t find Velen, can’t figure out what Mannoroth’s up to, oh hellfire…’_

“Come to think of it, you may be cursed.” Kil’jaeden played with Taelen’s tail absentmindedly. “You bear the mark of longterm suffering.”

“Have we not all suffered since Sargeras came to this world?” Talgath resigned himself to being executed for blasphemy and buried his face in Raazyk’s thick neck. “Aiii…”

Kil’jaeden sat a little straighter. “We have, exceedingly so.”

Both Raazyk and Talgath looked at him. He continued.

“There has never been so much torment or death on Argus before the Dark Titan’s coming. It is to be Legion to accept these things, but Eredar shall we always be regardless of who we serve.”

Talgath chose his next words carefully, lowering his head. “ _Man’ari.”_

Raazyk looked from Talgath to Kil’jaeden, worried. The Deceiver raised two fingers.

“Raazyk, do not be so anxious. He speaks the truth. We are Man’ari, embracing our fate rather than fighting it.”

“It is wrong.” Raazyk said quietly. “I never wanted to be like this.” He gestured to Zaarios, who was curled up on a cushion near the window. “I used to look like him, lovely and slim with skin the color of the sky before everything went to Fel.”

“So did I.” said another, Auriuus was his name. “But there is no going back.”

“Do we need to?” Kil’jaeden asked, welcoming further discussion even though he had half a hand up Taelen’s ass. “What use is change, growth and strength if all you do with it is yearn to go back?”

_‘That’s rich, coming from you.’_ Zaarios thought to himself. _‘You talk about embracing change while you force me to look like your long lost Velen every time we couple.’_

Kil’jaeden didn’t hear that, and gazed upon Talgath with pity.

“You are fine as you are, Talgath, I would not have you as my Right Hand otherwise. You must steel yourself and keep your mind in order, or it will tear you apart, this… lack of acceptance.”

Talgath nodded, spreading out on the floor as Raazyk embraced him. “I understand.”

The hours went by, Talgath staying overnight with Kil’jaeden’s consorts while the Deceiver went to accompany Illidan. Kil’jaeden was walking to his chambers when he heard voices raised in argument, recognizing both of them. He stood perfectly still, pointed ears focussing as he turned to the right.

_‘Outside.’_ Upon reaching the balcony he leaned over and squinted, seeing nothing but darkness. _‘Guess I shall listen, then.’_

“I need more.” said the first voice, that of Netrezaar in a state of acute distress. “Please, I can’t bear it.”

“I’ve given you all I can!” Galixus replied, fear and anger warping his words.

“It’s not enough!” Netrezaar grabbed hold of Galixus and shook him violently, the blacksmith’s strong hands none too easy to displace. Galixus choked, panic flooding his whole body. The dreadlord called upon what magic he could, but any attempt to concentrate fell apart as Netrezaar continued to assault him. It was a minute before Netrezaar shoved him in the chest and paced around, twitching. Kil’jaeden could only hear the scuff of hooves against stone and labored breathing.

_‘What is going **on** down there?’_

“You don’t deserve him, no…” Netrezaar snarled, accusing Galixus with his index finger. “Not to touch, see or serve. That should be _me_. _I_ belong with him.”

“You’re fucking crazy!” Galixus’s professionalism cracked and he swore fiercely. “I have to warn him.” He turned tail and ran, but Netrezaar sprinted right after him and bound the dreadlord in magical chains. With a word of dread power, the blacksmith turned his incorporeal bindings into hard steel. Galixus thrashed as best he could, ripping up the muscles in his arms. Netrezaar was beyond speech now, frothing fel at the mouth with death in his eyes. He reared back and whipped the length of the chain, sending Galixus to the ground. He beat the dreadlord over and over again into the stone until it cracked Galixus’s skull. Kil’jaeden moved away from the balcony, backing into an open room.

_‘They’re… fighting? I will question Galixus about this come morning. I do hope Netrezaar has good reason for his actions.’_ He knew the blacksmith loved him, but not of his wild instability and emotional issues. He planned what he was going to say. ‘ _Hey, Galixus. Heard you squabbling with Netrezaar at an unreasonable hour last night. Mind telling me what that was about?’_ He went to his chambers, a hand holding his tendrils together for some measure of security. _‘Yes, that should work well.’_

Illidan was none the wiser, snoozing away in bed and Kil’jaeden joined him with a nagging worry at the back of his mind.

_‘There’s so much I don’t know about… whatever this is. I’m slipping. I need to be more attentive.’_ Nothing was supposed to escape his gaze. He was the Deceiver, the all-knowing, the most shrewd of all Sargeras’s servants. But the thing was, so often he really didn’t care. As long as he lead a comfortable life and nobody tried to assert dominance over him in an unpleasant manner too often, everything was fine.

That was a lie.

Nothing was fine without Velen.

_ ‘Why can’t you let go?’ _


	27. Chapter 27

After breakfast, Kil’jaeden wandered past the throneroom to hear Sargeras and Archimonde discussing something. Sargeras was interrupting almost everything Archimonde said, knowing it would piss him off.

“Urgh, this is torture.” Archimonde grumbled. “Can you-”

“Not until you tell me what I want to hear.” Sargeras grinned with his flaming beard flickering around his face. “You deserve everything you get, you know. Think twice before coming to cry on my shoulder about your comeuppance.”

“Master-”

“Oh look, it’s Kil’jaeden!” Sargeras waved to the Deceiver as he walked into the room. “Archimonde and I were just talking about the cosmic ass-whooping you gave him. Fine work!” He winked, and Kil’jaeden returned the expression with both eyes. Archimonde stiffened in Sargeras’s lap, his wounds not yet healed. Kil’jaeden could see through his illusion as Archimonde wasn’t very good at them.

“Master, I come to request your assistance.” Kil’jaeden bowed his head. Sargeras raised his fiery brows and pinched Archimonde’s tail, smiling at the subsequent cry.

“What can I do for you?”

“Netrezaar and Galixus were quarreling outside last night. Do you know anything about what they were up to?”

Sargeras tilted his horned head to one side. “Nothing more than you, for I care little about the petty squabbles of your underlings. Go check on them yourself.”

“At once.” Kil’jaeden excused himself without a word to Archimonde and walked into the hallway. Illidan ran up to him, wearing his wispy white nightclothes.

“K’jay! Come see! There’s a guy outside!”

“Tell me something I don’t know. There are always people outside.” In the courtyard, a few demons were gathered near where Kil’jaeden had observed last night’s altercation. He approached with Illidan clinging to his hand and followed the crowd’s upward gaze. There were the palace’s many terraces, black spikes and fel crystals in the windows and…

Kil’jaeden’s eyes widened. Galixus hung from a spire, chained around his neck and body swaying in the breeze.

“What’s he doing up there?” Illidan asked, scratching at Kil’jaeden’s palm. “Weird place to play.”

“Go inside.” said Kil’jaeden.

“But-”

“Now.”

Confused but obedient, Illidan took one last look before scampering back into the palace. Kil’jaeden flew in silence up to Galixus and sliced the chain in half with a swipe of his claws. The wind roared in his ears as did the clank of metal as his former servant’s body ragdolled uselessly in his arms. Galixus’s face was crushed, pieces of his skull poking through the mass of pulverised muscle. He had died brutally, over the course of several agonizing minutes or even hours as he was left to draw increasingly feeble breaths. Visions came to Kil’jaeden unbidden when he touched the corpse’s forehead, or what was left of it anyway. Galixus had been afraid. He’d not had a chance to fight. The last thing on his mind had been Kil’jaeden himself. And that was all the Deceiver could tell, holding the broken body close as he flew to Mac’Aree. He dumped Galixus in The Pit, turning away as he knew the dreadlord was far beyond repair. Skin and bones disintegrated and became pure fel energy to further the lives of everyone else in the Legion. It was commonplace for the injured to be thrown in here, leaving the somewhat sentient pool to decide who was worth saving. Sargeras had forbidden close relations among the lesser demons to prevent inefficient heartache and cowardice. Kil’jaeden tried to be detached, he really did. But he could hardly breathe as he flew back home and his back ached with every flap of his broad wings. He touched down on the third floor’s eastern balcony with knuckles to the floor, gasping for air. Kil’jaeden shuddered to think of what brought Netrezaar to slaughter poor, innocent Galixus who had done nothing but try and help others for most of his life.

 _-HE WAS A SERVANT.-_ A dark voice whispered to him. _–EASILY REPLACEABLE.-_

“He _meant_ something to me.” Kil’jaeden said aloud, hoarse and struggling to rise. He sat then, folding his legs under himself and pushing his face into his hands. “Why… why would Netrezaar do this? What did Galixus _do_ to him?”

Hooves pressed into the carpet behind him ever so softly. Kil’jaeden turned to see Zaarios standing in the room, pale skin bathed in sunlight. A moment’s silence stretched between them.

“Master…?” Zaarios stepped forth, hands fidgeting by his bare chest. “What’s the matter?”

“Galixus is dead.” The Deceiver’s words tasted hollow. “He was my _friend_.”

_-A SERVANT, YOU SENTIMENTAL FOOL. NOTHING MORE.-_

“He was… my…” Kil’jaeden covered his eyes with one hand, quivering tendrils betraying the fact of his sorrow. “Nnh!” Hunched over, he looked terribly small to Zaarios who wandered closer and knelt. The consort said nothing, only wrapping his lithe arms around his Master’s form as Kil’jaeden sobbed quietly.

 

Netrezaar knew he was in for some shit. His minions, all variations of the Mo’arg species, were milling about anxiously deflecting messengers from the palace.

“Master!” A felguard came running up to him, stopping just short of the forge. “General Talgath wants to see you!”

“Tell him to get fucked.” Netrezaar growled, raising his hammer high before striking it against the anvil, sparks flying everywhere.

“Will do.”

“Don’t actually tell him that!” The hammer fell to the floor and Netrezaar threw his hands up in exasperation. “Gaaah, this is a mess!”

“You’re telling me.” The felguard tapped his thick fingers together. “It’s chaos out there, more so than usual!”

“I’ll split your damned skull in a minute – get out!” Netrezaar shrieked, hysterical. How was he going to get out of this? He couldn’t just up and leave, to be branded a traitor like Velen – the thought of his beloved Kil’jaeden hating him made his soul ache. If he approached the palace, he could be captured and tortured for the rest of his life. Kil’jaeden wouldn’t do it personally, so that was no good. He put his face on the hot anvil and groaned.

_‘I’ve made a mistaaaaaaaaaaake…’_

 

Back at the palace, Illidan was trying every spell he knew to get at Kil’jaeden, who had locked himself in his chambers.

“K’jay, come and get something to eat! You’ve been in there for aaaages!”

There was no reply, only the sound of shifting fabric and thin breathing. Illidan pouted, kicked the door and slumped against it.   
“I’m staying _here_.” He was going to sit stubbornly for hours, but curiosity struck him as the floor trembled. _‘What the…’_

One floor below, Magtheridon came running up to Mannoroth who he caught casting a portal.

“Don’t!”

Mannoroth turned to his subordinate and simply stared, awaiting an explanation. Poor Magtheridon could hardly breathe for how fast he’d been running, and put a hand to his heaving chest.

“O-one minute.”

Mannoroth rolled his eyes.

“Ghaaah… He knows.” Magtheridon gasped, all four of his lungs burning to get the words out. Mannoroth looked at him blankly.

“What?”

“He knows… Lord Archi…monde… hoooh .”

“Get on with it.” Mannoroth growled. “I’ve got places to be.”

“He fucking knows, damn it! Can’t you just stay put?” Magtheridon’s huge clawed hands made contact with Mannoroth’s chest. “About you and your little girlfriend.”

Despite his lack of eyebrows to raise, Mannoroth expressed pure surprise. Shock then stiffened his wings and he lashed his tail about in agitation.

“What do you mean? I don’t have a girlfriend!” 

_‘If I deny him, his words cannot be true.’_

“You can’t visit the Pits again.” Magtheridon scraped at Mannoroth’s chest, further irritating him. “He’ll blow it to pieces.”

“Stop pawing at me like a breastfeeding kitten and tell me just what’s going on.”

Magtheridon pulled his hands away, fidgeted around and then sighed.

“I heard him asking Lord Sargeras this morning for permission to track your movements. There’s a spell so powerful even you can’t detect it, and the Master knows how to do it. Lord Archimonde knows your every move, now, and he’s received information about your whereabouts in the past few months.”

“From who?” Mannoroth tried to keep his voice stable, but his tail betrayed him as it swept the floor anxiously.

“Talgath.”

“That fucker.” Mannoroth pounded his fist into one hand, flames roaring atop his head. “I’ll kill him, I’ll-”

“It’s too late, bro. Lord Archimonde _knows_ , and he’s coming for vengeance.”

“What vengeance? I haven’t done a bloody thing to him!” Mannoroth began to pace, thunderous footsteps shaking the floor. “It’s not too late. We can still leave, go somewhere else…”

“Mannoroth, please. You can’t. He’ll find you, it’s what the Legion does. It’s not like back home where you could travel, start a family and raise as many little soldiers as you liked. This isn’t Nihilam, bro. We’re slaves.”

“I am NOT!” Mannoroth cried. “Never…” In that moment, he knew. He’d been played a fool, given the illusion of power and settling in to it as easily as he had all his life. _‘Lord of the Annihilan, my ass. I’m so fucking stupid… to not have seen this… whatever this is…!’_

Magtheridon put a hand on Mannoroth’s shoulder, the gentle weight of it comforting and familiar.

“I’m so sorry.”

 

An excess of negative emotion thrived in the palace that day, grief and rage and despair all raw and wriggling. Tichondrius and his brothers couldn’t absorb it all, so they siphoned the excess and refined it into concentrated fel nuggets. While the Dreadlords were essentially printing currency, Archimonde pulled himself together. Lord Sargeras had taunted him enough to kick his spiteful drive into gear, and he swam laps in Bloodboil Lake to heal his many wounds. At one with the Fel, his lust for slaughter tingled around his head in sparks and slashes. He could see before his eyes just how he would crush enemies and allies underfoot, his massive hooves breaking skulls just as Kil’jaeden had cracked his.

He would not be satisfied until he was supreme. And he would have to murder Kil’jaeden and Sargeras to get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont stay up waiting for updates btw this one's going on hiatus XD

**Author's Note:**

> idk where this idea came from but here it is
> 
> also if it's bad i have writerblock nothin's comin out the way i want it to so G G


End file.
